


The Delinquents

by HawthorneWhisperer



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Rock Band, F/F, F/M, M/M, Multi-shipping, Recreational Drug Use, endgame bellarke
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-18
Updated: 2016-03-08
Packaged: 2018-05-21 09:51:36
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 27
Words: 26,800
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6047197
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HawthorneWhisperer/pseuds/HawthorneWhisperer
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Bellamy's in a boy band, Raven might be falling for her boss at the recording studio, Murphy's making bad life choices, and Clarke just wants to write some damn songs.</p><p>The multishipping music scene AU you never knew you wanted.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Bellamy (I)

**Author's Note:**

> Eight different intertwining pairings (not all of them endgame).
> 
> Ships and characters will be added as they appear in the narrative.
> 
> Chapter one originally posted as chapter six of The Dropship.

“So how long are you in town?” Raven asked, her skin shining with sweat.

“We’ve got a show tonight and then one tomorrow, and then an overnight bus to…somewhere,” Bellamy said, balling up the condom in a tissue and tossing it in the garbage.

Raven swung her legs off the bed. “Any crazy fan stories this tour?”

“One group of girls showed up with homemade body pillows of each of us but nothing too insane,” Bellamy said. “And where’s the fire? I’ve got at least an hour before rehearsal.”

“I’ve got a booking at the studio this afternoon,” she said, shimmying back into her underwear.

“They any good?”

Raven shrugged. “Two dudes doing some experimental electronica stuff. I hate their sound, but they’re fun so I’m doing them a solid. What’s your call time tomorrow?”

“Five.”

She pulled her hoodie on and tipped her head back to redo her ponytail. “Why don’t you swing by the studio around noon? I’m not recording anyone tomorrow, so we can work on your solo stuff and then you can fuck me again.”

“Cute,” Bellamy deadpanned.

“Whatever, you love it,” she grinned. “Break a leg tonight, okay?”

“See you tomorrow,” he said, returning her smile. Raven let herself out of his hotel room and Bellamy dragged himself out of bed to shower. He would have to plan a route to her studio tomorrow that would shrug off any fans or paparazzi that tried to tail him, because if any tabloids got wind of the fact that he was fuck buddies with his bandmate’s ex girlfriend, the ensuing PR storm could sink him. His band might be called The Delinquents, but they had a carefully crafted persona to make sure they were only dangerous in a way that appealed to girls ages 11-15 and his arrangement with Raven would just piss off their management. What they had was complicated– half best friends, half sex friends, and zero emotional attachment. Well, that wasn’t strictly true because he cared about her and she cared about him, but neither of them were pretending it was anything more than what it was, and what it was was sex whenever he was in town and goofy texts whenever he wasn’t.

Bellamy threw on the set of clothes their manager had chosen for his walk from the hotel to the bus, nodded to Finn as he emerged from his hotel room across the hall, and braced himself for the onslaught of screaming fans with thoughts of Raven still lingering in his mind.


	2. Bellamy (II)

“You’re late,” Harper clucked.

“Lost track of time,” Bellamy shrugged.  It was sort of the truth— recording with Raven ran over, but he’d promised to fuck her before they left town immediately after the show tonight, and Bellamy wasn’t someone who let his sex-friend down on that front.

Finn was sprawled across the couch, scrolling through his phone like he would rather be anywhere else.  To be honest, most of them probably wanted to be anywhere else, because this was their third world tour in four years. They were, quite frankly, fucking exhausted.  And rapidly reaching the expiration date on the whole boy band thing, because the girls who loved them so much when they were thirteen were now approaching their senior year of high school and teenybopper pop music held a lot less appeal to them.  Kane kept holding out hope that their younger sisters would somehow fall in love with them, but at twenty five Bellamy was starting to look a little too old for a twelve year old’s crush.  Finn still had a few years of babyfaced appeal left in him, but the rest of them were aging out.  Bellamy had even floated the idea of the band going on hiatus after their next album so they could end on good terms while also freeing them up to work on their own shit.  If that bombed, there was always the nostalgia circuit in ten-to-fifteen years.

 

He already had a lot of his own shit banked at this point, mostly thanks to Raven.  His natural musical inclination was a lot more bluesy-rock than pop, and he’d been lobbying for  _ years _ to be allowed to play guitar on some of the songs.  (“ _ That would ruin the choreography,” Harper had told him with an eye roll.  “Save it for when you go solo.”) _  Even being in the boy band itself was a fluke, since he only joined when Kane approached him after Bellamy had gained a minor internet following for playing guitar in Octavia’s youtube videos.  It seemed like a surefire way to make good money, and Kane had agreed to let Octavia come on tours with them  _ and _ provided her a tutor.

 

Of course, he never imagined Kane would also set Octavia up as her own mini-industry, with her own series of movies that featured outlandish fashions and an excuse for her to sing at the climax of each and every one.  Now Octavia was off filming something in Hawaii and Bellamy hadn’t seen her in two goddamn months, which was another reason he wanted this tour to be his last.  He’d be much happier playing smaller gigs and writing his own music than performing choreographed dance numbers in football stadiums around the world.

 

Murphy inhaled his joint and held it out.  “Anyone want a hit?” he offered in that strained way potheads sounded when they tried to talk and not exhale at the same time.  “This is good shit.”  He sighed and let the smoke leak out of his mouth.

 

“That depends.  Who’s the hook up this time?” Miller asked.  “Because that shit you got from that girl last time we were in LA fucked me up for hours and I’m not touching that again.”

 

“It’s still Emori,” Murphy admitted.

 

“You really need to stop fucking your dealer,” Miller replied.  “It’s bad for both of you.”

 

“I’m not fucking her,” Murphy protested.

 

“Well then that’s worse, because you clearly want to and she’s using that to her advantage.”

 

“Did you want some or not?”

 

“I will,” Finn said, looking up from his phone for the first time since Bellamy entered the room.

 

“Can we get back to the topic at hand?” Harper asked.  “Because you boys will have plenty of time to get high after we finish our run through.”

 

Bellamy perched on the edge of Miller’s vanity and nodded to her.  “Proceed,” he said, earning himself an indulgent smile.  He was Harper’s favorite, and he knew it.

 

“Okay, we have a few changes to the lineup tonight: Nyko will be playing bass, because Sterling fell rock climbing and broke his hand.  Nyko will take his spot for the rest of the tour, and yes, he has already promised to shave his beard before you go out there tonight.  Also, I just found out that Clarke Griffin announced her tour this afternoon, and she’ll be playing Barclay’s the same nights we’re in Madison Square Garden.”

 

“Clarke?” Finn asked.  “She’s touring?”  The joint dangled from his fingers, forgotten.

 

“You have got to stop chasing that,” Murphy laughed.  “She wrote like six songs about how much she hated you on her last album.”

 

“It is a lost cause, man,” Miller agreed, passing the joint back over to Murphy without taking a hit.

 

“Guys, focus,” Harper sighed.  “Anyway, we’ve got a few other shows where our last night will overlap with her first night, which means we have to be extra careful about paparazzi.”  She said the last with a pointed look at Finn, but he was back to scrolling through twitter.  Finn was the only one of them who paid attention to twitter, since to Bellamy it was a frightening mess of teenage girls calling him  _ daddy _ , which he didn’t understand and quite frankly didn’t want to.  “I’ve got a call into her people, but it’s safe to say we’ll probably be sharing hotels with her crew.  I’m warning you now, because I’m not dealing with that drama again.”

 

Last time The Delinquents stayed in the same hotel as Clarke, Finn had gotten drunk and went door to door looking for her, begging for a chance to apologize.  He never found her room, but he did manage to get them in all the tabloids as more than two dozen hotel guests reported a disheveled young man banging on their doors, shouting about how sorry he was.  Bellamy had never actually met Clarke— whatever Finn had with her, it had been short and intense and mostly behind closed doors, except for when he’d drag her to The Ivy and call the paparazzi on himself— but he knew her by reputation.  She’d started in country, the daughter of Country Legend Jake Griffin himself, but her newest albums were more pop-rock than anything else.  She was a terrifyingly good businesswoman, and while Bellamy resented her a little for the role she’d played in breaking Raven Reyes’ heart, if her songs about Finn were sincere, she had no idea she was the other woman.

 

If she was touring at the same time it might cut into the profits a little, but at this point Bellamy had more money than he knew what to do with so he didn’t care a whole hell of a lot.  Besides, her drama was with Finn, not him.

 

“Anything else?” he asked Harper.

 

“Yeah.  You guys all have to shave before tonight’s performance.  I know you’re all sick of it, but your appeal depends on you looking nineteen, not thirty.  No scruff, okay?”

 

Bellamy saluted her her on her way out, earning himself yet another smile.

 


	3. Raven (I)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My first attempt at Raven King in a modern au.

Raven drummed her fingers on the soundboard and looked at her phone one last time.  He was an hour late already; no texts, no emails, not even a call from an assistant to tell her a meeting had run over or that he was stuck in traffic.

 

He might be the heir apparent to Azgeda Records, but Roan Glazier was also a grade A dickbag.

 

She’d just started throwing shit into her bag to leave when the door to the studio swung open and in walked Roan, looking completely unconcerned that he might have just fucked up her day.  “You must be Miss Reyes,” he said with the air of a man used to having people not question him.

 

“I was,” she snarled.  “But you’re an hour late, so I’m out.”

 

“My assistant didn’t call?” he asked, coming up short.  His hair was nearly as long as hers, pulled back in a half ponytail, which by all rights should have looked ridiculous but instead looked infuriatingly handsome.  “He was supposed to call two hours ago to let you know everything had been pushed back an hour today.”

 

_ Fuck _ .  “Well, he didn’t,” she said with the same careless attitude as before.  “And I might have better shit to do today than wait around for you.”

 

“I’m sincerely sorry, Miss Reyes.  Would you rather reschedule?”

 

_ Ugh, no _ .  She’d gone through the trouble of wearing something other than jeans and a t-shirt to work today to meet him, and she’d rather not have to dig out her makeup bag again if she could help it.  “Now works,” she said, dropping her bag heavily on the floor.  “What did you want to see?”

 

“Your work,” he said, those icy blue eyes evaluating her from across the room.

 

“You might want to be more specific,” she snarked.  She was probably walking a thin fucking line, but she was a damn good producer.  She’d find another job, no problem.

 

But Roan just smiled at her attitude.  “As my mother prepares to retire, I’m taking a more hands-on role in Azgeda Records.  Part of that is listening to what our producers are capable of.”

 

“You can look at my resume.  I’ve got half a dozen songs on Top 100 lists right now in at least three different genres.”

 

Roan sat down in her chair without asking.  “So I’ve seen.  But that’s what we assigned you.  What are you working on on your own time?”

 

Raven’s stomach jolted.   _ Does he know I use the studio off books? _  That could get her fired, for sure.  And yeah, she was confident.  But she wanted to get fired because she was being a dick, not stupid.  Roan chuckled.  “I don’t mind if you let friends use the studio in your free time, so long as we get first right of refusal on whatever you produce,” he said, kicking his feet up to her sound board.

 

“Move your feet,” she gritted.  “That shit’s expensive, and only I get to touch it.”

 

Roan held his hands up in surrender, and she wondered if it was her imagination that he dragged his eyes up and down her body.  It happened so quickly it might have been an accident, but she knew how good she looked today, so it probably wasn’t.

 

She let her hair drape over her shoulder as she bent over the system, pretending to fiddle with the playback, and let him check her out.  “Here’s something from someone you guys really need to let go solo,” she said, and started Bellamy’s latest demo.

 

Two hours later, Roan had ordered them the nicest fucking take out she’d ever had, and she almost didn’t loathe him on principle.  Most suits were insufferable, and he definitely had a higher opinion of himself than was warranted, but at least he  _ listened _ to what she had to say.

 

He didn’t, however, agree with her often.  “I don’t care how talented Bellamy Blake is as a solo artist, The Delinquents are still contracted for one more album.  They’re money makers, and this is a business, not a charity, so no.  I don’t care if he’s your boyfriend.”

 

“He’s not my boyfriend,” she said, and yeah, that was definitely interest that sparked in his eyes.  She pulled out Monty and Jasper’s demo— electronica wasn’t her thing, but hey, it was proof she could do stuff outside of her usual wheelhouse— and hit play, and somehow, another hour passed.  Roan still didn’t agree with her (ever, on anything) but he seemed to be enjoying the fight as much as she was.

 

And actually— honest to god— it was an accident that she was blocking his way when he stood up.  The recording studio was tiny and not meant for more than a handful of people at a time, and sometimes she moved a little slowly after a long day of work.

 

But there she was, somehow standing just half an inch from what appeared to be rock hard abs, and her pulse picked up.  Her hands found the edge of the board behind her as he crowded towards her, and his eyes definitely flickered towards her mouth.  She did the same, and then physically  _ stopped breathing _ when his hand came up toward her face.

 

But then he curled it into a fist and stepped back.  Not quite far enough to be proper, but enough to put a little distance between them.  “I’m your boss,” he said, seemingly more to himself than to her.

 

“I don’t give a shit,” she replied.  Eloquence was never her thing, after all.

 

Roan cleared his throat and his eyes lost their dazed look.  “Well, I do.  Or I should.  Thank you for your...time, Miss Reyes,” he said, ducking past her and out the door in record time.

 

It took another twenty minutes for her heart to stop pounding.


	4. Bellamy (III)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And here begins the Bellamy/Gina arc.

_ Bellamy Blake _

_ 11:49pm _

_ I think I met someone _

 

_ Raven Reyes _

_ 11:50pm _

_ Where the fuck are you? _

 

_ Bellamy Blake _

_ 11:50pm _

_ DC.  She’s a bartender. _

 

_ Raven Reyes _

_ 11:50pm _

_ What are the odds that she’s a TMZ plant? _

 

_ Bellamy Blake _

_ 11:51pm _

_ I don’t think she is, because she admitted she knew who I was right away.  And she didn’t ask a single question about the other guys. _

 

_ Raven Reyes _

_ 11:51pm _

_ Send me her name.  I’ll do some cyberstalking and make sure she’s clean. _

 

_ Bellamy Blake _

_ 11:51pm _

_ I could do that myself, you know _

 

_ Raven Reyes _

_ 11:51pm _

_ But then how would I get to have any fun? _

 

_ Bellamy Blake _

_ 11:52pm _

_ Fine. _

 

_ Raven Reyes _

_ 11:52pm _

_ I can hear you sighing on the other side of the country _

 

_ Bellamy Blake _

_ 11:52pm _

_ Gina Martin.   _

 

_ Bellamy Blake _

_ 11:52pm _

_ I’ll be up for another hour if you want to call and mock me with what you find. _

  
  


Bellamy tossed his phone aside and fought the urge to go back downstairs for another drink.  Raven was right— there was always the possibility Gina was a plant for the tabloids, looking for dirt.  Hell, she could even be a nutso fan masquerading as a normal one, but he didn’t think so.  She felt real.  Kind, funny, and maybe a little bit starstruck, but not overly so.  He liked her curly hair and he liked her smile, and he liked that she didn’t act like he was a totally different species.

 

When he first started the whole boyband gig, he was kind of a dick.  He was a little ashamed of himself now, but for the first time he didn’t feel like a poor kid fighting for custody of his sister and so he let himself get caught up in the whole *fame* thing.  Groupies were something he only knew about from  _ Almost Famous _ , so when women— actual women, not girls, and some of them were like, models and shit— started hitting on him, he went along with it.  It was fun, and for the first year he lived the hedonist rockstar life to the fullest.  But after awhile, it got boring.  And kind of depressing, when the woman he’d just had sex with would ask if Finn was single too.  So eventually he stopped, until about a year ago when he started hooking up with Raven.  Things with Raven were fun, but both of them knew it wasn’t anything real or lasting, and that was fine.

 

Which was why meeting this woman— Gina, raised by her grandma and bartending to fund a master’s in social work— was kind of a big deal.  He hoped Raven wouldn’t find any dirt on her, and he hoped...well, he hoped Gina was even slightly interested in dating him and dealing with all the shit that would come along with it.

 

_ Raven Reyes _

_ 12:13am _

_ Here are your DC-area Gina Martin options _

 

_ Raven Reyes _

_ 12:13am _

_ Candidate #1: A 62 year old human right’s lawyer.  Divorced, three kids, one grandkid _

 

_ Raven Reyes _

_ 12:13am _

_ Candidate # 2: 15, super into The Delinquents, Clarke Griffin, and ponies _

 

_ Raven Reyes _

_ 12:13am _

_ (I will fucking murder you if it’s that one just so we’re clear) _

 

_ Raven Reyes _

_ 12:13am _

_ Candidate #3:  Happily married 35 year old teacher _

 

_ Raven Reyes _

_ 12:13am _

_ Candidate #4: 23 year old student.  BA in Psych, going for a master’s in social work _

 

_ Raven Reyes _

_ 12:13am _

_ Candidate #5: 51 year old bus driver, maybe single, probably a lesbian _

 

_ Bellamy Blake _

_ 12:14am _

_ It’s #4, but I assume I’m supposed to be impressed by your skills? _

 

_ Raven Reyes _

_ 12:14am _

_ Monty did most of the work.  But I’ll happily take credit, yes _

 

_ Bellamy Blake _

_ 12:14am _

_ Who the fuck is Monty? _

 

_ Raven Reyes _

_ 12:14am _

_ Resident genius, aside from myself.  I keep him on retainer for when I have to do background checks on your crushes. _

 

_ Bellamy Blake _

_ 12:15am _

_ So what is Gina Martin #4’s deal? _

 

_ Raven Reyes _

_ 12:15am _

_ She seems legit.  No ties to any tabloids, no recent large deposits of money, no major purchases on her credit cards that would indicate she’s thinking she will be getting a big pay out.  She doesn’t even comment on gossip websites, so she’s probably got a lot of free time. _

 

_ Bellamy Blake _

_ 12:15am _

_ Hold the fuck up.  You checked her financials? _

 

_ Raven Reyes _

_ 12:15am _

_ What did you think I was going to do? _

 

_ Bellamy Blake _

_ 12:16am _

_ I assumed facebook stalk her.  Not commit a federal goddamn crime. _

 

_ Raven Reyes _

_ 12:16am _

_ Where’s the fun in that? _

 

_ Bellamy Blake _

_ 12:16am _

_ Fuck _

 

_ Bellamy Blake _

_ 12:16am _

_ You realize if I marry her I’m going to have to tell her that my friend invaded her privacy before we even went on a date, right? _

 

_ Raven Reyes _

_ 12:16am _

_ Let’s cross that bridge when we get there, Romeo. _


	5. Bellamy (IV)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Bellamy makes a new friend.

Bellamy glared at his alarm the next morning like he could silence it with his annoyance, but it kept beeping.  Finally he slapped at it and rolled out of bed, thankful that he’d turned down Gina’s offer of a third drink but also wishing he’d stayed, just to talk to her for a little while longer.

 

But his job beckoned, and abs like his didn’t just appear magically.

 

Ten minutes later he was in the elevator, blearily stabbing at the level with the gym, when someone down the hall yelled “Hold the door, please!”, so he hit the  _ door open _ button and waited until a blonde in ridiculously expensive work out clothes whipped in.  “Oh great, you’re going to the gym too,” she said, slightly out of breath.

 

It took him two seconds to place her, and the second second was just because he was exhausted.  “Clarke Griffin,” he said without thinking.

 

“The one and only!” she said cheerfully.  She looked at him again, and the mask he recognized as  _ you must be a fan _ slid off her face.  “Bellamy Blake, the bad boy of The Delinquents,” she said with a grin.

 

“Murphy’s the bad boy; I’m the older brother type,” he clarified, sticking out his hand for her to shake.  

 

“Keeping yourself in dreamboat shape, I assume?”

 

“That’s the plan,” he replied.  The elevator dinged and let them out on the floor with the private gym.  She headed to the elliptical and he headed for the weights, and they didn’t speak until an hour and a half later, when they both left the gym at the same time.  “I didn’t realize your tour overlapped with ours here,” he said as she hit the button for the twelfth floor.

 

“It doesn’t.  Mine kicks off in New York in a couple of weeks— I’m just here visiting my mom.”

 

“You stay in a hotel to visit your mom?”

 

“We work best if we have some space,” Clarke said evenly as she stepped out onto their floor.  “Well, I’m this way— nice meeting you!” she said.

 

“Nice meeting you too,” he said, and he’d be lying if he said he didn’t watch her walk away.

  
  



	6. Raven (II)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Raven certainly didn't expect to see him here, like this.

Monty had just tossed another shot back when movement near the door caught Raven’s eye.  It was that stupid long hair— now in a  _ man bun _ , and she wanted to vomit because god, she should not be into that— that she recognized first, but the rest of his body was unmistakeable as well.  “Who’s that?” Jasper asked, hanging over her shoulder.

 

_ Shit.  I must be staring _ .  “Nobody,” she said, turning back to her beer.

 

“He looks kind of important to be a nobody,” Monty observed.  “That suit looks...expensive.”

 

“Probably cost more than your rent,” she said without thinking.

 

“Oooooh!  So he  _ is _ someone!” Jasper crowed.

 

“Shut up.  He’s my boss,” she gritted, hoping against hope Roan hadn’t spotted her staring at him like an idiot.

 

“Wait, is that— that’s the prince of Azgeda Records?” Monty asked.

 

Raven snorted.  “He’s just a fucking suit, not Prince Charles,” she laughed.

 

“I appreciate you defending my honor, Miss Reyes,” Roan said, and she  _ jumped. _  He was really under her fucking skin, and that irritated the shit out of her.  “At least I think that's what you were doing. Roan Glazer, Azgeda Records,” he said, holding his hand out for Monty and Jasper.  They both managed to shake his hand like grown ups, but the second Jasper could, he was behind Roan making stupid faces at Raven.

 

She made her own  _ please shut up _ face at Jasper, and then realized Roan was waiting for her to say something.  “I’m sorry, what?”

 

He laughed, and she realized there was something different about him tonight.  His eyes were glassy, and his tie was askew.  Roan was...drunk.  “I was wondering what you’re drinking tonight,” he said cheerfully.

 

The man she’d met at her studio was carefully controlled— not a hair out of place, not a movement that wasn’t deliberate.  Their  _ moment _ was the closest he came to letting anything slip, and even then he didn’t cross the line.

 

“How drunk are you?” she said instead.

 

“Does that matter?”

 

“It might,” she admitted.   _ My mom was a mean drunk _ seemed like a little much for running-into-your-boss’s-boss’s-boss-at-a-bar conversation.

 

“Pretty fucking drunk,” he said.  “My mom’s a bitch, did you know that?”

 

Raven rolled her eyes.  “You’re what, thirty?  Get the fuck over it.”  Roan laughed at her, but it seemed forced.  She looked around the bar, wondering who he’d come with.  “What are you doing in a shithole dive bar like this, by the way?  They don’t serve martinis here, or if they do, they’re not your kind.”

 

“Heard there was live music here.  Came to check it out.”

 

“Live music is on Saturdays.  Today’s Friday,” Raven said.  

 

Roan sighed and sagged down onto a stool near the bar, and Raven realized— he wasn’t just drunk, he was really,  _ really _ drunk.  “Fuck.  I’ll call a car,” he muttered, pulling out his phone.

 

Raven flagged down the bartender and got him a glass of water while he waited, and shooed Monty and Jasper to the dart board.  “You okay there?”

 

“My mom’s a bitch,” he replied.

 

“You’ve mentioned that.  That’s supposed to be news?”

 

He ran his hand through his hair, mussing it up quite a bit.  “She’s firing me.  Monday.”

 

“She told you in advance?  That’s nice of her.”

 

“I stumbled across my replacement coming in for a meeting today.  She tried to hide it, but the writing’s on the wall.”

 

Raven didn’t have a whole lot of pity for him, what with his $400 suit and car service, but she knew what it was like to have a shitty mom.  “That sucks.”

 

“I’ll land on my feet,” he said.  “I always do.”  His phone buzzed in his hands and he looked down.  “That’s my car.”

 

She stood just as he did and once again, they were face to face.  But this time, his hands curved around her waist, strong and sure despite the vodka on his breath.  His eyes focused on hers, clearly slightly.  “I won’t be your boss on Monday, Miss Reyes,” he growled, and then turned on a his heel and left.

 


	7. Bellamy (V)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Gina comes for a visit.

Bellamy scrunched down in his seat next to Raven and tried not to fidget, but he couldn’t help it.  This seemed...big.  Important.

 

Maybe flying Gina to LA for the weekend was too big of a gesture for someone he’d been dating for all of a month, but this was his life now.  “Stop playing with your sunglasses,” Raven hissed.  “You’re trying so hard to be incognito you’re going to draw more attention to yourself.”

 

“What do you know about being an undercover rockstar?”

 

She made a disgusted face.  “Rockstar?  Is that what you tell yourself?”

 

“Fuck you.”

 

“Already have, thanks,” Raven said and then nodded towards the airport doors.  “That her?”

 

Bellamy found Gina’s curls in the bright California sunshine and smiled, his stomach easing a little.  “Yeah, that’s her.”

 

“Damn, you’ve got it bad, don’t you?”

 

“Shut up.”  He stuck his arm out the window and waved to her.  Gina waved back, her smile wide and excited.

 

“Hi,” she said a little shyly when she reached the car.

 

“Hi,” he said, a little nervous too.

 

“Oh for fuck’s sake,” Raven sighed.  “Hi.  I’m Raven, your driver for the weekend because this dickbag is scared of LA traffic.”

 

“I also don’t have a car here,” he protested.

 

“Right, because you can’t afford a car service or anything.”

 

“Chauffeurs talk,” he protested and got out, taking Gina’s bag from her hands.  “Sorry about her, by the way.”

 

But Gina was laughing.  “No apologies necessary,” she smiled while he put her bag in the trunk.

 

Bellamy waited to kiss Gina until they were safely in Raven’s car, and Raven gave them a few moments of privacy before she started the car.  “We doing a driving Miss Daisy thing with you guys in the back?”

 

Bellamy nuzzled Gina’s cheek.  “Yes.  Drive,” he ordered.

 

They were halfway to Bellamy’s brand new house in the Hills— Raven had flipped off five different drivers and cut off no less than three other cars— when they surfaced again.  “You guys done being gross?” she asked.

 

“Yeah, sorry about that,” Gina replied, wiping a smear of lipstick from his chin.

 

Raven checked her mirror and made a sudden lane change.  “By the way, did I tell you I’m fucking my boss?” she asked Bellamy.

 

“What?  Since when?  And who is your boss, exactly?” Bellamy asked.

 

“Well, I’m not like, fucking him  _ currently _ .  But I will be, in the future.  Except he won’t be my boss then.”

 

“So you’re hallucinating,” Gina supplied helpfully.

 

They caught Raven’s smile in the mirror.  “This one’s sharp, Bell.  You should keep her around.  It’s complicated, but he’s um…” she trailed off, distracted by almost rear-ending the car in front of them.  “He’s sort of...Roan Glazer.”

 

“What?  That dick?” Bellamy exploded.  He’d met him a few times in meetings, an arrogant jackass with expensive suits.  He didn’t seem like Raven’s type, although now that he thought about it, he wasn’t exactly sure what her type  _ was _ .

 

“That’s the one,” Raven confirmed.  “And Gina, if you call like, a music industry rag and spill this, I’ll kill you, but he’s...he’s not going to work for Azgeda as of Monday.”

 

“Shit, why?” Bellamy asked.

 

“His mom is forcing him out.”

 

“That doesn’t explain the fucking,” Gina prompted.

 

“Oh, right.  That.  I mean, it’s not like, for sure.  But there have been some serious vibes, you know?”

 

“I still think he’s a dick.”

 

“I think so too,” Raven agreed, easing them onto the off ramp.  “But he’s a really handsome one, so…”

 

“Sounds hot,” Gina agreed.  “I say go for it.”

 

They pulled into Bellamy’s shaded driveway and Raven looked back at them.  “It’s official.  I’m keeping this one,” she announced, and Bellamy squeezed Gina’s hand fondly.

  
  


**

 

“Where’re you going?” Bellamy whined the next morning as Gina untangled herself from his arms.

 

“Raven’s taking me out to brunch.  We’re going to go see if I can find a famous rockstar and make him my boyfriend,” Gina teased.

 

“I don’t like you guys being friends.  Raven’s bad news,” he pouted.

 

“This because she told me 'One Night Stand' is about her?”

 

“It’s not  _ only _ about her,” he protested.  “And yes.  That’s exactly why.  She knows where the bodies are buried and she’s clearly way too happy to tell you where they are.”

 

Gina shimmied back into her jeans and leaned over to kiss him.  “That’s why I have to go to brunch with her,” she said, and ignored the rest of his pleas to get her back in bed.

 

He fell back asleep, even though officially, today was legs day and he should be in the gym.  His phone beeped half an hour later and he looked at it blearily.

 

_ Clarke Griffin _

_ 10:01am _

_ Why did I agree to a world tour again?  This is the worst _

 

Bellamy smiled to himself.  He’d run into Clarke a couple times while they both played New York— mostly in their hotel gym— and eventually they exchanged numbers.  She was smart and funny, and she seemed to understand just how awkward he found the whole “celebrity” thing.

 

_ Bellamy Blake _

_ 10:02am _

_ We’re on a week long break :) _

 

_ Clarke Griffin _

_ 10:02am _

_ Brag about it why don’t you _

 

_ Clarke Griffin _

_ 10:02am _

_ How’s the new house? _

 

_ Bellamy Blake _

_ 10:02am _

_ Weird.  It’s full of stuff, but none of it’s mine.  You surviving the tour okay? _

 

_ Clarke Griffin _

_ 10:02am _

_ For now, but Lexa’s tour starts next week  _

 

He’d never met Clarke’s girlfriend, but he’d heard of her.  She was a “new brand of pop princess” (whatever the fuck that meant), with a half shaved head and a bold, experimental sound.  She seemed pretty popular with artsy kids, and wore her lesbian identity openly and didn’t let any managers hide it or try and make it more palatable to middle America.  Bellamy respected that about her, although privately he found her whole look to be a little terrifying. But he understood the appeal for Clarke, and understood why Clarke left her “friendship” with Lexa deliberately ambiguous in the press.  After the shitshow that was Finn, she was clearly a little gunshy.

 

_ Bellamy Blake _

_ 10:03am _

_ :(  When do your dates overlap? _

 

_ Clarke Griffin _

_ 10:03am _

_ Denver, Chicago, Seattle.  That’s it.  For six goddamn months.   _

 

_ Bellamy Blake _

_ 10:04am _

_ That fucking blows.  I’m sorry _

 

_ Clarke Griffin _

_ 10:04am _

_ It’s mostly my fault since I have the Asian and European legs to do and she’s sticking continental US, but yeah.  Thanks tho _

 

He pulled himself out of bed and had managed to do the legs reps his trainer had assigned for the day when Gina came back.  He was shirtless in his kitchen trying to choke down a protein-and-greens smoothie and she kissed his cheek.  “That looks gross,” she told him.

 

“Tastes like grass,” he whined.  “How was brunch?”

 

Gina climbed onto a stool across the island.  “Good.  Raven told me a little about your solo stuff.  I hope that’s okay.”

 

“It’s fine.  As long as you don’t tell the tabloids or TMZ or something, I don’t mind.”

 

“So you think...the band is done?”

 

Bellamy shrugged.  “We’ve got one more album on our contracts, so we probably can’t break that unless a miracle happens at the studio.  But we’re not contracted for another tour, not yet, just promotion for that one so...I think we’ve reached the end, you know?”

 

“What about your fans?” she asked.

 

“They’ll be fine.  Most of them are growing up and moving on anyway, and for the ones that haven’t— it’s not like our music will disappear, or anything.  Should make things easier when the heat dies down, actually.”

 

“You mean like we might be able to kiss in public?”

 

“Honestly, I’d do it right now, but you don’t want that.”

 

Gina looked amused.  “I don’t, huh?”

 

“Me kissing you in public would bring down an avalanche of bullshit on you.  And not just tabloids and reporters and shit— you’d get death threats.”

 

“Ah.  Twitter.”

 

“Yeah.  Twitter,” he sighed.  “It’s just easier for everyone if we all pretend we’re single until all this is over.”

 

“Plus, you wouldn’t want to break the hearts of your fans who ship you with Murphy,” she added with an evil grin.

 

“There’s that too.”  He leaned over and kissed the tip of her nose.  “Want to know something that would break tumblr?”  He looked around, making a show of being sure no one else was in his giant house.  “Miller and I made out once,” he said in a stage whisper.  “We were super drunk like two years ago.  I keep wondering if people will catch on and ship us together instead of me and fucking  _ Murphy _ , but no luck.”

 

Gina laughed and leaned back across to kiss him.  “You’re a good guy, you know that?” she said, and suddenly, his stomach flipped uncomfortably.

 

He forced the smile on his face to stay there, unwavering.  “I like you, Gina Martin,” he said with as much feeling as he could muster.  It was the truth, after all.

 

“I like you too, Bellamy Blake,” she said, and her dimples deepened.

 

For the weirdest damn reason, that made him feel worse.

  
  



	8. Murphy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Murphy and Emori make some mildly questionable life choices.

Somewhere in the distance a siren wailed.  The dog next door barked at it, or maybe at a passing squirrell.  Murphy wasn’t sure which, but he was pretty sure he had sprouted roots into Emori’s couch.  Some stupid cartoon was playing on her TV— which was smaller than he thought it would be, seeing as she was a dealer and all— while she talked on her phone.  She hung up and clicked her tongue at him.  “I’ve got a delivery.  Let’s go,” she ordered.

 

Murphy stayed where he was.  “You can handle it on your own,” he said, his eyes focusing and unfocusing as he tried to follow the cartoon.  “What do you need me for?”

 

“I want you there,” she wheedled, kneeling down next to him.  The ugly floral print cushion sagged under her weight.  “Come on, John.  Let’s go have an adventure.”  She flashed him a smile, and he knew she knew she’d win before she even started.

 

He heaved a sigh and stood up.  “So where are we going?”

 

“Rich dude up near Malibu.  He’s paying extra not to have to come to this shithole,” she said, snatching her keys and purse from near the door.

 

“Wait, all this time and you would have been delivering to me?” he whined, climbing into her beater of a car.

 

“But then you’d miss the scenery,” she teased, sweeping her hand wide at the row of tiny, box like houses that dotted her street.  Most were surrounded by chain link fences, and most of those had  _ beware of dog _ signs.  “You like it anyway.  Reminds you of where you come from.”

 

He wished she wasn’t right about that, but it was true.  It was weird how poor, shitty neighborhoods all looked the same.  New Jersey didn’t have palm trees, but that was the only difference, really.  Streetlights and headlights illuminated Emori’s face in slices as they drove, a Kanye song blasting on her radio.  The minutes ticked past in companionable silence.  “Why don’t you ever listen to my music?” he whined.

 

“Who says I don’t?” she threw back.  “I’m just not in an NSYNC sort of mood.”

 

“We’re nothing like NSYNC,” he muttered, but she killed the engine in front of a giant mansion.

 

“This is us,” she said.  “You stay here.”

 

“Like I needed to be told that,” he complained, but she ignored him.

 

Five minutes later she emerged from the long driveway and got in, slamming the door much more forcefully than necessary.  “You okay?” he asked as she tried to start the engine and stalled it.

 

“Fuck,” she mumbled, trying again.  This time the engine roared to life.  “Yeah, I’m fine.  Dick thought home delivery meant something else, is all.”

 

“I should have gone with you,” he said, just for something to say.

 

“What good would that have done?   _ Boy band member gets into fight with oral surgeon over drug dealer girlfriend _ ?  That’s really a headline your management wants to deal with.”

 

“I am the bad boy,” he protested.  “And wait, you’re my girlfriend?”  They hadn’t even kissed, mostly because despite multiple magazine profiles and blog posts to the contrary, he was absolutely shit when it came to women.  And not interested in men, no matter how badly tumblr wanted him to bang Bellamy.

 

Emori snorted.  “That’s what they’d say, not what I am,” she replied, but he could see her hands shaking on the wheel.

 

“Turn in here,” he ordered as a sliver of an idea occurred to him.  Emori complied and tapped the breaks to enter the parking lot.

 

“Got the munchies?” she teased, but now that they were in a well-lit area he could see that her face was pale.  

 

“Nope.  An idea,” he said cryptically.  “Wait here.”  He was in and out in record time because no one thought to look for John Murphy, Resident Delinquent’s Bad Boy at a grocery store at nine pm on a Saturday night.  He was supposed to be at a club swarming with photographers, not riding around in a beat up Toyota Camry with a girl with a lip piercing.

 

“You’re...in the mood for an omelette?” Emori guessed when he returned.

 

“Revenge,” he corrected.  “Let’s go back.”

 

Her hands were on the wheel, but she turned to look at him.  “You could get arrested, you know.”

 

“It’ll build my street cred.  And if we do, I promise I’ll make Harper bail you out too, and I’ll pay for your lawyer and everything.  And aren’t you supposed to be some streetwise drug dealer?  Now you’re worried about a little vandalism?”

 

He saw the moment that she accepted his challenge.  “Let’s go then,” she said, reversing out of the parking spot.

 

Murphy’s egg hit the douchebag’s house with a satisfying splat, Emori’s following closely thereafter.  “It’s stucco, not siding, so this shit is going to be expensive to fix,” he explained and she hurled another one at the entryway.  Lights flickered on and Murphy prepared to run, but Emori was in the zone— she chucked egg after egg at the house with surprisingly good aim, until a middle aged man stuck his head out the door.

 

“Cops are on their way!” he hollered, and Murphy grabbed her arm.  

 

“Come on, Babe Ruth— we’ve gotta go,” he urged.

 

“Babe Ruth was known for his hitting, not pitching,” she corrected.

 

“Noted.”  Sirens wailed in the distance, and this time he paid attention to them.  “But those are for us, so can we please run?”

 

Emori threw the last egg and dropped the carton and they took off through the hedges, down the wide, even sidewalks and around the corner to where they’d hidden her car.  They jumped in and drove off just as cop cars slowed down in front of the Asshole’s house.  “There’s weed inside that house!” Murphy yelled out the window at the cops, and Emori squealed and hit the gas, gunning it out of the quiet subdivision.

 

She drove entirely too fast the whole way back to her place, adrenaline pumping through both of their veins.  She started laughing when they approached her neighborhood and by the time she stopped in front of her tiny house they were both laughing so hard they couldn’t breathe.  He climbed out and leaned back against the door, gulping for air, and Emori circled the car.  “Thanks for that,” she said when they both calmed down a little.

 

And then without warning, she rose on her tiptoes and kissed him.

 


	9. Bellamy (VI)

_ Clarke Griffin _

_ 2:19pm _

_ You’re in Atlanta tonight, right? _

 

_ Bellamy Blake _

_ 2:27pm _

_ Until tomorrow morning, then we’re taking the bus to Dallas _

 

_ Bellamy Blake _

_ 2:27pm _

_ Or maybe Orlando, I forget _

 

_ Clarke Griffin _

_ 2:27pm _

_ You got any free time tonight?  I’m bored with everyone on this tour _

 

_ Bellamy Blake _

_ 2:27pm _

_ We’re doing interviews all afternoon and then a hospital visit but I should be done after dinner _

 

_ Clarke Griffin _

_ 2:28pm _

_ Those hospital visits are so hard _

 

_ Bellamy Blake _

_ 2:28pm _

_ Tell me about it _

 

_ Clarke Griffin _

_ 2:28pm _

_ I’ll be back from my show around midnight _

 

_ Bellamy Blake _

_ 2:28pm _

_ Text when you’re back and I’ll head over _

 

Bellamy slid his phone back in his pocket, but he was in a weird mood the rest of the afternoon.  Even Finn noticed, and Finn barely noticed anything about the rest of them anymore.  “You okay?” he asked Bellamy as they sat in the car taking them to the hospital.

 

“Yeah, just— sick kids are hard,” he said, but it felt like a lie.  Sick kids  _ were _ hard, but that was part of the job that Bellamy was actually good at— kids can see through pretense pretty quick, so it was a good excuse to just be himself, not like answering the same fifteen questions over and over again.  ( _ Really, we’re all like brothers.  We have so much fun on tour.  No, not dating anyone; my life is just too busy.  Gina Martin is just an old friend.)   _ Besides, after years of practically raising Octavia, including a few years there where he actually did, he was good with kids.

 

But he felt off; jittery, even after the hospital.  He called Gina to try and settle down, but she was busy with a project for grad school and had to work a shift at the bar later, so she barely had time to talk.  She sounded concerned, but he always felt self-conscious complaining about the trappings of his lifestyle.  After all, he once spent a solid year eating nothing but mac and cheese, ramen noodles, and cereal, so  _ I’m crazy rich but sometimes my life lacks meaning _ seemed like a dumb thing to complain about.

 

But it felt good to knock on Clarke’s door that night.  The floor was clear— her security guards, he suspected— and she opened it right away, wearing a giant white tank top with gaping underarm holes that revealed a neon pink sports bra.  “No need to get dressed up on my account,” he teased.

 

She sat down cross legged on one of the beds, revealing bright orange boxer shorts.  Her hair was piled in a messy bun on top of her head and her face looked a little blotchy, liked she’d recently washed her makeup off.  “This is the glamour behind the magic,” she grinned.  “Monroe scored me some oreos and peanut butter.  Want some?”  The package of oreos was already open.

 

“I’ll take some, yeah,” he agreed and sat down across from her on the king sized bed.  “How was the show?” he asked, trying not to spray oreos everywhere.

 

“Good,” she said distractedly, focusing on smearing the top of her oreo with peanut butter.  “I didn’t say like, ‘hello Baltimore’ or anything, so I count that as a win.”  She popped the entire thing in her mouth and then reached for the bedside table, where she had a giant glass of milk.  “Sorry, want some?” she offered.

 

“Lactose intolerant,” he replied.  He took her lead and covered the top of the oreo with peanut butter and a balanced the knife on the lid.  “Do you sometimes...hate performing?”

 

Clarke looked thoughtful.  “I mean, tours like this are exhausting, and if Lexa and I have to have skype sex instead of real sex one more time I might just  _ die _ , but...no.  I like being up there.  On stage.  I take it you don’t?”

 

“It just doesn’t feel like me, you know?”

 

Clarke grinned at him.  “That’s because it isn’t.  Finn used to be super jealous of you, you know, because you’d barely try at all and you had the most intense fanbase.”

 

“That wasn’t all good,” he said, remembering the horror days of first being famous and being terrified of thirteen year old girls.  He appreciated their enthusiasm, but it was a little much all at once.

 

“No, not for you.  Because you’re a private person.”

 

“You’re private,” he argued.

 

“In some ways.  I control what parts of my life other people see, yeah, but when I’m onstage, singing something I wrote?  That’s all of me, you know.  Which is cheesy as fuck now that I say it out loud, but it’s true.  I write a lot of sappy love songs, but— they all mean something to me.  Even though they aren’t all about specific people, no matter what the media thinks.”

 

“I think I’d be happier as a songwriter,” he blurted out.  He’d never told anyone that— not Raven, not even Octavia.  “I like music, but I hate— I don’t like being up there.  I don’t.”

 

“Raven said you’re good at writing.”

 

“Wait, you...talk to Raven?”

 

“When I’m in LA, yeah.  I mentioned that you and I hang out sometimes and she seemed...surprised.”

 

“Must not have mentioned it to her,” he shrugged.  “She’s gotta stop telling everyone about my solo stuff though.  She's going to get me in trouble.”

 

“She’s just proud of you,” Clarke countered.  “She believes in you.  She’s loyal like that.”  Maybe the topic was getting a little too close to Finn and how that ended, because she changed the subject.  “But I’m about to order something to watch— want to stay?”

 

“I’ll have to leave in an hour,” Bellamy said.  “We have a radio thing in the morning, and I should be sort of awake for that.”

 

Clarke settled back against the headboard and he did the same, the oreos and peanut butter in the space between them.  She picked some dumb action movie neither of them had seen, and Bellamy’s eyes started getting heavy within the first ten minutes.

 

He must have fallen asleep, because Clarke poked him awake at three am.  “You should get back to your room,” she whispered.  

 

He blinked up at her, her hair mussed and her face plain, and his heart did something very, very stupid.  So he forced himself to sit up, slid his flip flops back on, and leave before he did anything else dumb.

  
  



	10. Octavia

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Octavia pops in to say hello and give her brother a heart attack.

“Pick up,” Octavia hissed, pacing back and forth.  “Pick up pick up pick up.”  She gnawed on her fingernails, but Bellamy’s phone just keep ringing.  His voicemail started, and she sighed and hung up, only to hit redial again.

 

“He might be sleeping,” Lincoln said reasonably.  “What time is it there?”

 

“I don’t know where he is,” she snarled.  “So like, three to five hours ahead.  At the latest it’s...nine? He’s a grumpy old man, but he’s probably not sleeping yet.”

 

“Could be performing,” Lincoln pointed out.  He turned the page of his newspaper calmly.

 

“Maybe,” she admitted.  “He’s going to murder me, though.  And you, so I don’t know why you’re so fucking zen about this.”

 

“Number one, it was your idea.  Number two, you’re a legal adult. Number three, we thought we cleared the beach of photographers, and number four, he’s welcome to try.”

 

“None of that shit matters to Bellamy,” she said, and tried again.

 

“O?  What’s wrong?” Bellamy answered on the first ring of her fourth call.  “My phone was on silent.”

 

“Where are you?”

 

“O, what’s wrong?”

 

“I asked where you are.”

 

“Halfway between Dallas and Orlando, but I’ll charter a flight to Hawaii if I have to.  What’s wrong?”  He sounded panicked, which was bad, but also good because it meant he probably hadn’t seen the news yet.

 

“No like, are you...sitting down?”

 

“O,  _ what’s going on?” _

 

“So you haven’t like, looked at your phone?”

 

“I would have answered earlier if I did.  Whatever it is, we’ll fix it, okay?  Just tell me.  I can’t take this anymore,” he pleaded.

 

Lincoln stood up and walked over to where she was still pacing and wrapped his hands around her shoulders.  She took a deep breath and let him ground her.  That was what she loved about Lincoln, after all— how peaceful he was, no matter how lethal he looked.  He kissed her forehead and Octavia decided to rip the bandaid off once and for all.

 

“You might, um, see some paparazzi photos of me online, and they, um, might sort of look like I’m marrying my bodyguard in a beachside ceremony?”

 

“They might?” he asked, and she could hear the suspicion creeping into his voice.  “Or they do, because you did?”

 

Octavia squeezed her eyes shut and she grimaced.  “I did,” she admitted.  Bellamy’s side was silent so long she thought the call might have been dropped.  “Do you...hate me?”

 

“Who is it?” he asked, but she couldn’t read his tone.

 

“My bodyguard.”

 

“Which one?  The one with tattoos?  Or the white dude with cop face?”

 

“The one with tattoos.  His name is Lincoln.”

 

“Right.  And how old is he?”

 

_ Oh, crap _ .  She looked at Lincoln in a panic because, well, she hadn’t exactly found that out.  But none of that mattered to her, because she knew, from the bottom of her heart, that he loved her and she loved him.   _ Twenty nine, _ Lincoln mouthed.  “He’s twenty seven,” she told Bellamy, and Lincoln gave her a stern-but-amused look.

 

“Twenty seven.  And if I have Raven look him up, what am I going to find?”

 

_ Shit.  Raven _ .  “Well, you’d probably find out that I lied, he’s twenty nine, and he’s...he’s a black belt in judo, and he served with the Seals before going into private security.  But before you have your whatever-girlfriend stalk him—”

 

“Raven’s not my girlfriend,” Bellamy interrupted.

 

“Yeah, because that’s important.  But what I meant was, he’s so nice, Bell.  He’s kind, and he’s sweet, and the paps were chasing me the other day and I fell, and he— he protected me, okay?”

 

“You pay him to do that,” Bellamy pointed out.  “But— you’re married?  Legally?”

 

“Are you pissed?”

 

“That I didn’t get to go to my own sister’s wedding?  Of course I’m fucking pissed.”

 

“I’m sorry Bell, it just— it just happened.”  He was quiet again, and she could practically see him scrubbing his hand across his face in frustration.  It had seemed so  _ right _ at the moment, because she loved Lincoln and he loved her, and they were in a beautiful place and in love, but now...she regretted it.  A little.  Or maybe a lot.  Not the marriage itself, but...not having Bellamy there.  “Do you hate me?” she asked in a tiny voice.

 

“I’ll never hate you,” he sighed.

 

“We’re going to do another ceremony,” she said with a sudden burst of inspiration.  “When we’re all back in LA and you’re done with the tour.”

 

“We are?” Lincoln whispered, but she waved him away impatiently.

 

“That’ll be the real one, okay?  You can give me away and everything.”

 

“Kane is gonna be pissed,” Bellamy said, and she knew she maybe wasn’t entirely forgiven, but she also wasn’t on death row.

 

“I love you, Bell.”

 

“I still might kill your husband,” he said, but then he sighed again.  “But I love you too.”

  
  



	11. Raven (III)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Raven finally gets laid.

 

Raven was oddly jumpy all morning, her mind distracted by thoughts of Roan.   _It’s not like you haven’t been laid recently,_  she scolded herself.   _Two months is not that long_.  And Roan was arrogant, and way too rich, and entirely too full of himself— and yes, that also meant arrogant, but in his case it was worth mentioning twice— but he was also really, really hot and Raven was only human.  She had a feeling he had a really great body underneath those stupidly expensive suits and she itched to find out for her.

 

In the booth, her opera singer finished a refrain and Raven realized she’d stopped paying attention.

 

“Sorry, can we do that again?” she asked Anya, and avoided the woman’s glare.

 

Anya cleared out around two, and her next booking wasn’t until five, so Raven went and sat by the beach for a few hours, pretending like she wasn’t checking her phone every two minutes, even though she totally was.

 

What was worse was _Roan didn’t even have her number_.  It might be in the company database somewhere, but if his mother was firing him today, it’s not like he would have access to that much longer.  And...why was she expecting him to call, or text, or contact her in any way?  They had like, two moments, one of them when he was super drunk and pissed off.  It wasn’t like he even _liked_ her— he just wanted to bang her.

 

And she wanted to bang him, so the shitty part of her wished his mother would hurry the fuck up and just fire him since apparently he wouldn’t fuck her if he also signed her paychecks. By a quarter to five she’d checked every music industry gossip blog to see if anyone was covering Roan’s departure from Azgeda, but so far...nothing.  

 

Radio silence.

 

Her five o’clock booking was your standard hipster band, complete with beards and banjos.  They were nice enough, but she was just going through the motions for the most part, hating herself just the tiniest bit for being hung up on _Roan_.

 

The hipsters left at eleven and Raven wondered if it was even worth getting something to eat for dinner, or if she’d rather just crash the second she got home.  She rubbed her eyes and started gathering her things, but a sound in the hallway made her grab for her pepper spray.  “Who’s there?”

 

“It’s just me, Miss Reyes,” a dark voice purred, and Raven dropped her pepper spray before she realized it was kind of weird she already recognized his voice.  

 

“Don’t call me that,” she called back.  “My name’s Raven.”

 

“My sincerest apologies, Raven.  I thought it was best that we talk in private— I didn’t mean to startle you,” Roan said, and stopped on the other side of the studio, about as far from her as he could get.  “I fear I was...inappropriate at the bar the other day, although I do appreciate you taking care of me while I waited.”

 

“You waited until eleven at night to thank me for getting some water for your drunk ass?”

 

His lips curved into a half smile.  “That’s the sum of it, yes.”

 

“So did you get fired today, or what?”

 

“That’s part of what I wanted to talk to you about.  It will be announced tomorrow, but my mother is retiring and I will be taking her place, effective immediately.”

 

“So you threw yourself a pity party for nothing?”

 

“Not quite.  I contacted a few friends this weekend, and together we convinced my mother it was best if she retired.  Immediately.”

 

“And your replacement?”

 

“She will be taking my old position.”

 

“So you staged a coup,” Raven said, bouncing her knee up and down.  Five minutes ago she wanted nothing more than to crash into her flannel sheets, but now her body was humming with electricity.   _You really gotta bang this dude and get him out of your system,_  she told herself.

 

“Of a sort.  However, I fear—”

 

“You told me at the bar that you wouldn’t be my boss as of today so we could bang, but you still are so we can’t.  Did that really necessitate a trip all the way out here?  You could have just...not called.  I would have figured it out.”

 

“I thought I owed you more than that,” he said.

 

“Do you ever drop the formality?  You talk like you’re being deposed all the time,” she snarked.

 

He smiled, and it did something funny to her stomach and/or vagina.  “My mother always encouraged me to be careful with my words,” he said.

 

“Yeah?  Were you being careful when you promised to fuck me tonight?”

 

“I did no such thing,” he said, but he didn’t seem too perturbed by her forwardness.

 

Raven stood and reached across the board to grab a piece of paper and a pen.  “Because if you’re worrying about me suing you for sexual harassment, I won’t.  At least, not yet.”  She scribbled quickly and handed it to him.

 

“I promise not to sue your ass if you fuck me.  Sincerely, Raven M. Reyes,” he read aloud with great amusement.  “Charming.  You realize this won’t hold up in a court of law, I assume?”

 

“Probably not, but it’s the best I can do, unless you have a form or something on you?”

 

Just like the first time he was in her studio, they were now standing face to face.  He must have walked towards her while she was writing, or maybe while he was reading her note— she didn’t remember him crossing the floor, but now he was less than an inch away from her.  “I don’t,” he said with that stupid fucking smirk that made her want to fuck him until it faded away.

 

“Well?” she challenged.

 

He responded by kissing her, _hard._   His hand cuffed the back of her neck and walked her the last two steps so her thighs bumped against her small desk.  She sat and he fit himself between her legs, his fingers dancing across her brace and coming to rest on the curve of her waist.  Raven sank her teeth into his lower lip and pulled back, but then he tipped his head slightly to seal their lips together again, his tongue brushing alongside hers in a way that made her toes curl.

 

She worked at the buttons near his throat and Roan pushed up the hem of her shirt, his long, deft fingers stroking her skin just underneath her ribcage.  The moment she had his chest bare she tore her lips away from his mouth and laid hot, wet kisses down to his sternum.  Her hands roamed his chest and the ridged muscles of his abdomen, and she was right — his abs were _insane._  Raven grinned triumphantly to herself, but Raon must have noticed because he suctioned his lips to her pulse point and dragged his teeth lightly across the sensitive skin.

 

Raven made an almost embarrassing moan at that, but Roan did the same when she got his pants unbuttoned and reached inside.  He was already rock hard, which felt like it’s own little victory, and the fact that he dropped his head to her shoulder when she palmed him through his boxer briefs felt like another.  He nearly ripped her shirt off over her head, but then paused to gently loosen her ponytail and card his hands through her hair as it fell down.

 

It was odd, this mix of harsh and gentle, but Raven liked it.  Roan had her bra unclasped easily, and he followed the path of her bra straps down the slope of her shoulder with soft kisses, his beard rasping against her skin.  He covered one bare breast with his palm, kneading roughly, and his lips encircled her other nipple so delicately she wanted to scream.

 

He dropped one hand to the button of her jeans and he pulled back from his ministrations, his eyes glowing strangely in the light.  “Here,” she offered with a rough voice, unclipping her brace and easing it off.  “I can’t put my weight on that leg while it’s off, okay?”

 

Roan nodded and kissed her, popping her jeans open with one hand and running his thumbnail across her nipple with the other.  Raven lifted herself up with her hands while he guided her jeans and panties down to her ankles and then went to his knees.  More delicately than she thought possible he tugged her shoes off and then let her clothes drop to the floor.

 

She expected he would stand back up, but instead he kissed the bone in her ankle, and then her calf, and then her knee.  She slipped her hands into his long hair, meaning to pull him up so she could kiss him, but then she didn’t— she started guiding him to her center, his lips leaving a trail of fire in their wake as he skimmed up her inner thighs.  She dropped one hand behind her to brace her weight when his nose brushed her curls and she opened her legs wider.  Roan paused and she whined impatiently, even though she knew it wouldn’t do any good.

 

She was right— instead of what she wanted, he moved a little higher up, nipping at the hollow of her pelvic bone.  Raven whined again and that time he listened, using his thumbs to spread her folds open.  He licked a long, slow stripe up her center, far more slowly and deliberately than she wanted.  She let go of Roan’s hair and braced herself with both hands, trying and failing to bite back a loud moan.  It hung in the air and then his tongue moved to her clit, and she realized— her sounds were spurring him on, so she stopped holding back.  Another moan earned her a finger easing inside, and the strangled way she broke it off earned her another.

 

She keened when he sucked her clit between his lips, and damn near screamed when he flicked it with his tongue.  Her legs started to tremble and he stopped teasing her completely, pushing her over the edge within seconds.

 

“Fuck,” she muttered, and he wiped his lips and chin clear of her arousal with a feral grin.  “I have— there’s condoms in my bag,” she said, breathing hard, satisfied but not yet sated.  Roan dug through her bag and located them, shoving his pants down around his knees and rolling the condom on in record time.

 

He curled his hand around the back of her neck again, bringing her up to meet his lips in a gentle kiss as he pushed inside of her.  He broke the kiss but kept his hand at the base of her skull, holding her face close to his, his eyes burning into hers.  Every movement he made seemed to bring him deeper and deeper inside of her, and Raven gave up bracing her weight on the desk and to wrap her arms around his shoulders.  He seemed in no hurry to kiss her again, just pushed in and pulled out of her with steady rhythm while he studied her face.

 

When she couldn’t take it anymore she kissed him and dropped her own hand to the apex of her thighs, coaxing one more orgasm out of her throbbing clit before returning her hands to his shoulders, holding on as he picked up speed and then spent himself inside the condom.

 

“Well, I’m definitely not suing you now,” she said against his shoulder.  Roan chuckled and pulled out, tying the condom off and tossing it in the wastebasket under her desk.  “Someone else has to empty that, you know,” she pointed out, hopping down from the desk and balancing on one leg as she reached for her underwear and jeans.  Roan rolled his eyes at her, but grabbed some tissues from behind the soundboard and plucked the condom from the trash, balling it up in them.

 

“I’ll throw it away in the dumpster outside,” he conceded, and then handed her her brace matter-of-factly.  He hadn’t fully taken off his pants so they were already rebuttoned, slung low on his hips to give her a good view of those abs.  He was halfway through buttoning his shirt when he spoke again.  “Needless to say, this was...less than professional of me.”

 

Raven let out a bark of laughter and pulled her shirt back over her head.  “You think?”  She found her ponytail holder and tipped her head back, gathering her hair in one hand and readying the tie with the other.  “Look, this doesn’t have to be a whole big thing.  You must have like, a million employees.  I’m a nobody.  There’s no way you’re actually my boss except for in the abstract way that you’re everyone’s boss.”

 

“That doesn’t make it right.”

 

“No, it makes you a power hungry dick who just had sex with an employee who can’t afford to lose her job.  But I’m a consenting adult, so whatever.”

 

“So whatever,” he repeated.  “Has anyone ever told you that you have a gift with language?”

 

“I’m a genius in more ways than one,” Raven bragged.  “But take that paper with you, okay?  You don’t try and fire me for seducing you, I won’t sue.”  

 

Roan once more crossed the tiny space.  “You seduced me?” he asked, raising his eyebrow.

 

“You implying it was the other way around?”

 

“Wouldn’t dream of it,” he smirked, and then leaned in to kiss her one last time, soft and searching, almost gentle except there was nothing about him that could ever be described that way.  “I’m sure I’ll see you around, Miss Reyes.”

 

“You call me that because it pisses me off, don’t you?” she called as he walked down the narrow hallway towards the street.

 

Roan stopped just before the door, his leanly muscled frame illuminated by the streetlights shining in from outside.  “Glad you figured it out,” he called back over his shoulder.

 


	12. Bellamy (VII)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Shit hits the fan.

Bellamy’s phone was buzzing.  He groaned, wondering if it was worth the effort to pick it up from his nightstand it to turn it off entirely, but it stopped.

 

And then started again.

 

And then stopped.  And started again.

 

 _Something’s wrong,_  he thought.  Panic flooded his veins— _Octavia?  Did something happen again?_  and he bolted upright.

 

No missed calls from Octavia, though, and it looked mostly like texts from various people asking _what are you going to do?_  His phone vibrated with an incoming call, and Raven rolling her eyes at him appeared.

 

“What’s going on?” he asked, and then cleared his throat.  

 

“I assume you haven’t seen TMZ yet,” she said.  

 

“Fuck, what now?” he groaned and reached for his ipad.

 

“You were hugging Clarke Griffin on a rooftop in Paris a few hours ago, it would appear.”

 

Bellamy groaned again as the shrieking headline filled his screen: _BELLARKE IS HAPPENING???!!!_ Beneath it was a blurry image of Clarke with her head tucked under his chin.  His arms were around her shoulders, hers around his waist, and it looked for all the world like a private, romantic moment.  The Eiffel tower glowed fuzzily in the distance, even.  “It’s not what it looks like,” he whined.

 

_“It just sucks, you know? I’m in Paris and I haven’t even seen the Eiffel Tower,” Clarke had said, sprawled out on her stomach on the bed._

 

_“Bet you can see it from the roof,” Bellamy suggested, laying facing her on the other bed.  From there it was short work for Clarke to charm a few hotel security guards while he hid in an adjoining hallway so no one would see them together.  The wind was soft but cool on the roof, and the smile that spread across Clarke’s face when she saw the Eiffel Tower sent a frisson down his spine._

 

_“My dad brought me here the first time,” she said, almost to herself.  “I was seven.  He told me Paris was his favorite place in the world.”  Jake Griffin’s death in a tour bus accident had rocked the music industry, but Bellamy never really considered the impact it must have had on his family.  On Clarke, who wore her heart on her sleeve.  “Before I go onstage, I always remind myself of what he’d say: if you’re true to who you are, they’ll love you.”_

 

_“What if you’re lying to them?” Bellamy asked.  They were standing side by side, facing the tower, and it was easier to admit it that way.  “What if you hate your songs, you only actually like one other member of your band, and you hate being onstage?”_

 

_“Do you hate your fans?”_

 

_“No,” he admitted.  “They can be scary as fuck sometimes, but— it’s genuine, I think.  And we provide, you know, kind of a service for teenage girls.  We’re safe in a world that isn’t always safe for them.”_

 

_“You’re the imaginary boyfriends who won’t try and finger them in their parents’ basement before they’re ready?” she asked with a wry smile._

 

_“Basically,” he laughed.  “O’s not that far out of that age, after all.  I guess if a girl would rather memorize my birthday and favorite foods instead of deal with a gross dude in her science class, I get that.  I’ll be that for her.”_

 

_Clarke cocked her head and looked at him.  “That’s why they love you, you know.  They can feel that.  The Delinquents might not be the right fit for you, but you’re being genuine.  In your own way.  And by the way, congrats on your sister’s wedding.”_

 

_Bellamy winced.  “They’re already starting in on the child-actor-downward-spiral narrative.  I know how it looks, but she’s not losing it.  That’s just...that’s O.  She does something and considers the consequences later.”_

 

_“I could help, you know.  I had to transition from child to adult star, and it’s hard. And the media loves the troubled-young-starlet narrative.”_

 

_“How did you avoid it?”_

 

_“By paying a lot of people a lot of money,” Clarke replied.  “I can put her in touch with Indra, my PR woman, if you want.  She’s amazing, if also kind of scary.  And if Octavia wants to we can always arrange for her to be one of the Griffin Squad at a few of my shows.”  The Griffin Squad were a small, select group of models, actresses, and musicians that watched Clarke’s shows from backstage and emerged to dance and sing along to her song “Ladies.”  Clarke was frequently photographed out for brunch with a few of them at a time, and they all had a reputation as beautiful and put-together.  Lexa used to be one of them, and Bellamy wasn’t sure if they were all really her friends or not, but the media loved it._

 

_“How legit is the Griffin Squad?”_

 

_“I’m friends with all of them.  Maybe not as close as we lead people to believe, aside from Lexa, but they’re all women I know and like.  And if Octavia is seen with us, it’ll give her a little cover for her reputation.  My narrative is businesswoman-with-her-shit-together, so if I’m friends with her, maybe that’ll help?”_

 

 _“I’ll let her know,”_ _he said.  “Thanks.”_

 

_Clarke wrapped her arms around her middle and shivered.  “You know what my dumbest complaint about this tour is?  I don’t get enough hugs.”_

 

_“Really?  Not the parade of journalists and photographers and screaming fans in random locations and never knowing where you are?”_

 

_“I can handle all that.  I’ve been doing this since I was fifteen, so it’s all I know,” she said.  “Monroe always hugs me good night because she knows I need it, but it’s not enough.  I get lonely.”_

 

_“Are you asking me for a hug, princess?”_

 

_“You offering?”_

 

_Bellamy opened his arms and she stepped into them without hesitation.  Her arms circled his waist and he rested his cheek on the top of her head.  It felt good, he had to admit— Clarke was right.  Touring was lonely.  He hadn’t seen Gina in almost a month, and it wasn’t like Miller was much of a cuddler on the bus.  His body craved physical contact with another human being, and Clarke fit perfectly in his arms.  “You writing anything these days?” he asked, his breath ruffling her hair._

 

_“I’ve got a melody in mind, but it’s not finished,” Clarke mumbled into his shoulder._

 

_“I don’t feel like sleeping— want to work on it?” he offered._

 

_“That would be awesome,” she replied._

 

“Have you finished reading the article yet?” Raven prompted.

 

“Haven’t even started,” Bellamy grumbled.

 

“Well, it says that the light in Clarke’s room went on as soon as you went inside, but yours didn’t go on for another few hours.”

 

“Are you fucking kidding me?  Are they stalking us?”

 

“Of course they are.  That’s their fucking job.”

 

“We were just working on a song,” he whined.

 

“Then why didn’t you tell me you were friends?” Raven prodded.

 

“You never told me you were friends with her.”

 

“I didn’t even know you knew her.”

 

“Well, same.  I didn’t know you knew her either,” he threw back.

 

“We’re getting off track here,” Raven sighed.  “Read the damn article and then call Gina, okay?  And if she dumps your ass I’m keeping her as a friend.”

 

“So loyal,” he deadpanned.

 

“I didn’t say I was dropping you.  I’m keeping you both,” Raven announced, and hung up.

 

Bellamy checked the rest of his texts; a few from Miller, a few from Octavia wondering if he’d broken up with Gina and forgotten to tell her, and then a handful from Clarke.

 

_Clarke Griffin_

_8:13am_

_Shit shit shit shit shit shit shit_

 

_Clarke Griffin_

_8:13am_

_They saw us_

 

_Clarke Griffin_

_8:13am_

_Monroe has a standard “We do not comment on Clarke Griffin’s personal life” statement ready to go, but let me know if I need to add in a denial._

 

_Clarke Griffin_

_8:13am_

_And I will personally call Gina and apologize, if you want me to._

 

Bellamy switched back to his ipad to determine the damage before he went any farther.  As Raven had implied, the article was almost worse than the photo.

 

_Millions of fans just cried out in squeeee!!!!!! because Delinquent bad boy Bellamy Blake and pop princess Clarke Griffin were caught canoodling on the roof of an exclusive Paris hotel.  Clexa fans will have their hearts crushed to discover that Lexa Woods might not be the inspiration behind Clarke’s new single “Secret Love.”_

 

_“They were practically making out in the elevator,” a source placed within the hotel reported.  “Bellamy couldn’t keep his hands off of her.”_

 

_“Clarke’s more in love than she’s ever been,” claimed a close friend of the singer-songwriter.  “I’ve never seen her so happy, and that’s because of Bellamy.”_

 

_No word from either camp if the elder Blake will be following in his sister’s footsteps into marital bliss, but people outside the hotel noted that Clarke Griffin’s lights went on immediately after they left the rooftop, but Blake’s stayed dark for several more hours._

 

Bellamy scrubbed his face in annoyance and started replying to the texts, beginning with Clarke.  

 

_Bellamy Blake_

_9:06am_

_Go ahead and release it.  I’ll have Harper put something out about tabloids blowing friendships out of proportion.  And I don’t think you’ll need to talk to Gina, but I haven’t talked to her yet because it’s the middle of the night where she is._

 

_Clarke Griffin_

_9:06am_

_Monroe’s releasing it now._

 

_Clarke Griffin_

_9:06am_

_Sorry again.  I feel like this is my fault._

 

_Bellamy Blake_

_9:06am_

_It’s on both of us, princess.  We should have known better._

 

Bellamy’s day did not get any better after that.  He walked into their dressing room and Finn came flying at him, his punch glancing off Bellamy’s jaw.  “Fucking Clarke, man?” Finn snarled.  Miller sprang into action and pulled Finn back, but Murphy just watched them, looking highly entertained.

 

“She dumped you,” Bellamy sneered.

 

“He’s been fucking Reyes too,” Murphy volunteered.

 

“Not helping,” Miller said, his arms locked around Finn’s.

 

“Just thought he should know,” Murphy replied.

 

Bellamy rubbed his jaw and touched his lip gingerly.  His hand came away with a smear of blood, the taste of copper lingering.  “I’m not sleeping with Clarke,” he said, wishing he could punch Finn back instead.  Or just lie and tell him he was, because Finn had hurt Clarke and Raven and Bellamy didn’t particularly care for men who did shit like that.  “And I’m not sleeping with Raven.  Anymore,” he added after Murphy threw him a pointed look.  “That stuff with Clarke was just tabloid bullshit.  You know what it’s like.”

 

“So they invented that photo?”

 

Bellamy sighed, and Harper let herself into the dressing room, looking annoyed.  “No.  But it was just a hug.  Between friends.”

 

“Since when are you friends with her?” Finn asked.

 

“Since DC,” Miller supplied, now that Finn wasn’t going to try and rip him to pieces.

 

“Wasn’t DC when you met that bartender?”  Murphy asked, because Murphy never met a wildfire he wouldn’t throw gasoline on.

 

“Gina,” Bellamy gritted.  “My girlfriend.  Clarke is a friend, Raven is a _friend,_  Gina is my girlfriend.”

 

“You sure?  After that?” Murphy needled.

 

“If not, that’s between me and her.  Harper, I—”

 

“You boys have been fighting, haven’t you?” she clucked.  “Bellamy, put some ice on that.  You’ll have to get hit in the face during rehearsal today to explain the bruise, but I’ll talk to props and see what we can manage.  I issued the denial, by the way, but Kane already called to ask why I hadn’t cleared your romance with Clarke with him, so please, stay off any rooftops with her for the time being.”

 

“Shouldn’t be a problem,” he replied.   _Our tour doesn’t overlap with hers again until Tokyo anyway._

 

“Right.  Well, how about you guys take a time out before rehearsal starts.  No fist fighting onstage, got it?”

 

“We love each other like brothers,” Murphy deadpanned, and Harper flipped him off as she left the room.

 

Bellamy found his individual dressing room down the hall and sat down, meekly accepting some ice from the terrified-looking assistant who poked her head in.  It stung against his bruised jaw, but soon the cold eased the ache.  He did some quick calculations and decided eight in the morning was a good enough time to call Gina.  If he was lucky she wouldn’t have seen the post yet and he’d be able to explain himself.

 

She picked up on the second ring, and his heart sank when he heard a quiet sniffle.  “Hey,” she said, her voice hollow.

 

“You’ve seen it.”

 

“Yeah.  My friend called at six am to let me know you were cheating on me.”

 

“I’m not—”

 

“I told her you weren’t,” Gina plowed on.  “I know how this shit goes.  But they didn’t just photoshop that picture, did they?”

 

“Clarke’s a friend,” he clarified.  “She had a bad day.  Needed a hug.”  It wasn’t quite the truth, but it wasn’t quite a lie, either.

 

“On a rooftop in Paris?”

 

“That’s where we were standing, so yeah.”

 

“So she’s just a friend,” Gina said, and there was that sniffle again.

 

“She is.”  That much was the truth, after all.

 

“Except you’ve never, ever mentioned even knowing her.  How long have you been friends?”

 

 _Four months_ was on the tip of his tongue, but Gina would do the math.  Four months ago was when he met her too, and it would look bad.  “Awhile.  We run in the same circles,” he lied again, his stomach churning.

 

“Bellamy, I... look, I get that your life is different than mine.  And I’m even fine with you being so close with Raven despite...whatever you guys used to have.  Because you never, ever tried to hide that.  But this—”

 

“I didn’t lie,” he lied, hating himself.

 

“You kinda did, though,” Gina countered.  “You didn’t want me to know you were friends with Clarke, and I don’t know what that means, but...I barely see you as it is.  I have to trust you for this to work and right now...I don’t.”

 

There it was: the other shoe, dropping.

 

“Gina—”

 

“Don’t,” she said.  “Don’t.  Don’t try and explain yourself, because I know myself, and after this, I’m always going to think you’re lying to me.  And I won’t do that.  I’m sorry, Bellamy.  I am.  But we’re done.”

 

He tried pleading his case a little more, but Gina started sounded less sad and more resolved, so eventually, he gave up.

 

As it turned out, he wasn’t much better than Finn after all.

 


	13. Clarke (I)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Clarke and Lexa get some much needed one-on-one time.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If Clexa *isn't* your thing, you may want to skip this chapter.
> 
> If Clexa *is* your thing: enjoy nothing but smut and these two ladies being happy.

“Make sure you talk to lighting— I want to look like I’m glowing, not like I’m a corpse during ‘Kneel Before You,’” Lexa said outside the door.  The door cracked open, but she didn’t enter right away, and the opening act’s guitars wailed in the distance.  “And they can’t miss their cues during 'City of Light.'  The key change makes the whole song.”

 

“Will do,” Titus replied, and Lexa swung the door the rest of the way open.

 

“Still ruling with an iron fist, I see,” Clarke teased from where she was lounging on Lexa’s couch.

 

“Someone has to,” Lexa replied, distracted, but then she snapped her eyes across the room.  “Clarke?  When did you get here?”  A smile spread across her face and Clarke preened internally.  Getting Lexa to smile usually took an act of Congress, but Clarke could accomplish it with just her presence.

 

“I got sick of Europe,” she said with an affected air.  “Thought I’d get back to Real America.”

 

“Detroit’s about as real as it gets,” Lexa said, but then Clarke was kissing her and running her hands through Lexa’s soft brown hair.

 

“I missed you,” Clarke mumbled against her lips.

 

Lexa took her face in her hands, but Clarke wouldn’t let her take control of the kiss— not this time.  “I missed you too,” Lexa breathed when Clarke moved to suck on her pulse point.  “I have to be onstage in ten,” she added when Clarke rubbed her nipple through her shirt.

 

“Then we have plenty of time,” Clarke purred.  Lexa’s nipple hardened under her touch and Clarke used her other hand to tug gently at Lexa’s long, loose hair.  Lexa whined and Clarke slipped her hand down to Lexa’s leggings, easing her hand inside.  Lexa did not believe in underwear, something Clarke as a woman didn’t fully understand but as a girlfriend thoroughly appreciated, and the downy hair at the apex of her thighs was already soaking.  “So wet,” Clarke breathed hotly in her ear,  “So wet for me.”

 

Lexa grabbed the edge of her dressing table for support when Clarke slipped her finger between her folds, carefully avoiding her clit.  She teased her with soft, feathery strokes, coaxing more and more wetness from Lexa’s center.  Her other hand moved up Lexa’s stomach, underneath her shirt, and cupped her breast.  Clarke pressed a finger inside and Lexa’s head dropped back as she moaned with need, a need Clarke felt too, but right now wasn’t about her.  Her thumb drew light circles on her clit with the gentle pressure she knew Lexa craved, and then her walls were clenching around Clarke’s finger so tightly that for a moment Clarke wondered if Lexa would be up for skipping her show entirely and spending the rest of the night on the couch, with Clarke’s head between her thighs.

 

Lexa caught her lips in a desperate kiss as Clarke worked her through the rest of her orgasm and then looked at the clock on the wall.  “I have to go out there soon,” she whined.  “And I have to fix my make up.”

 

Clarke had been careful not to mess up Lexa’s striking eye makeup— warpaint, she called it, and Clarke loved her fierceness almost as much as she loved Lexa’s soft heart underneath— but her lipstick was hopelessly smeared.  “Sorry,” she smirked.

 

“No you’re not,” Lexa said with the same smile.  She slipped her hand down Clarke’s pants, testing the wetness she found there, and then removed her hand, her fingers shiny with Clarke’s need.  “But I’ll pay you back,” she said dangerously, licking her fingers clean while Clarke watched with hooded eyes.  “Wish me luck?”

 

Clarke grabbed her and kissed her one last time, tasting herself on Lexa’s tongue.  “Break a leg,” she murmured, incredibly grateful that she’d chartered that flight from Sweden.

  
  



	14. Miller (I)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Miller discovers an unlikely connection.

Bellamy was scrolling sullenly through his phone and Miller decided he’d had enough.  “I’m sorry she dumped you,” he said, dropping into the seat next to him.  Outside, the European countryside smeared past.  Miller wasn’t sure where they were today— back in France, he thought— but the mountains in the distance looked nice.  “Anything I can do to help?”

 

“I’m not making out with you again,” Bellamy replied, and Miller caught a glimmer of a smile on his face.  

 

“Please, I’m not making out with  _ you _ again,” he said and bumped his shoulder into Bellamy’s.  “Really though, it sucks.”

 

“It does.”

 

“Please tell me you’re not being super emo and stalking her facebook page,” Miller begged.  “Because if you are, I’m calling TMZ and telling them your secret facebook name is Hector Virgil.  And then your cover will be blown and everyone’s going to know you’re a fucking nerd.”

 

“I’m not, I swear.  See?” Bellamy held out his phone, and sure enough, the photos weren’t of Gina.  They were Raven, mostly, making stupid faces on the beach with the sunset in the background.  Miller flicked through them to make sure Gina wasn’t like, hanging out with Raven or something, and then his heart fell into his stomach and dissolved.

 

“You— you never said Raven was friends with Monty Green,” he said, trying to sound nonchalant.

 

“Probably because I don’t know who the fuck that is,” Bellamy pointed out.  “That guy, you mean?”  He pointed to the photo Raven had posted of Monty with his feet buried in the sand.  The sunset painted Monty’s skin a glowing, ethereal gold, his hair as dark and straight as Miller remembered.

 

“Yeah.”

 

“Why, you know him?”

 

Miller made a face at Bellamy, even though he knew his friend was probably moving a little slow these days due to feeling-like-shit-about-hurting-Gina.  “We...grew up together,” Miller said finally, leaving a lot of things out.

 

Things like his four-year-long crush on Monty throughout high school, or that one drunken kiss at Jasper Jordan’s graduation party, which numbered among Miller’s best-and-worst moments of his life.  Best, because  _ Monty actually noticed him enough to kiss him, _  and worst, because, well, Monty left the next morning for a summer research internship and that was that.

 

Bellamy gave him a measured look.  “You like him, don’t you?”

 

“Don’t be ridiculous.”

 

“Oh my god, you have a  _ crush," _  Bellamy whispered, excitement flickering across his features for the first time since that shitty day in Paris.  “Do you want me to have Raven set something up?  She fucking loves meddling.”

 

“No no no,” he hedged.  “I mean—”

 

“I’ll have her have a party or something.  It’ll be low key, just friends.  Next time we’re all in LA, okay?”

 

A warm bubble of hope emerged in Miller’s chest, even though it was just as likely that Monty was happily settled down with some dude up in Silicon Valley.  Miller was only sort of in the closet these days, with Kane loosening the reins more and more as Miller’s questionable sexuality became less of a scandal and more of an attraction for a certain brand of fans.  But they’d stopped denying it outright, anyway, which wasn’t nothing.

 

And now...well, this wasn’t nothing either.

 


	15. Raven (IV)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In a shocking turn of events, Raven is not big a fan of feelings.

It was just sex, really.  And that suited Raven just fine.

 

Roan would text, usually late on a Friday or Saturday night, and ask if she wanted to see him.  She’d laugh at his attempts at propriety even during a booty call, but almost always accepted.  He’d offer to send a car, she’d refuse, and then at the end of the night they’d do that dance again.  Roan was always open to her staying the night in his ridiculously palatial house right on the beach but Raven always left because it was better if they kept the lines drawn clearly between them.

 

Except one night she was just too goddamn worn out from three separate orgasms (one when he ate her out on the hallway floor because they didn’t make it all the way to his bedroom, one when he was inside of her, and then one from his fingers when he finished because sometimes Roan was a man on a mission and she was only too happy to let him accomplish it) so when he sleepily suggested that she stay, she did.

 

And that changed things.

 

He made her pancakes the next morning and she wore the button down shirt she’d practically torn off his chest the night before as she ate them, her brace clinking against the metal stool.  He wasn’t the world’s greatest cook (the pancakes were pretty burned) but it had been ages since anyone cooked for her. His kitchen was the size of her entire house, all white and grey and black in a minimalist style that made her roll her eyes a little.  Practically everything about his house screamed Rich Asshole, from the completely unused living room to the industrial sized stove he barely knew how to operate.

 

Oh, and there was also the fact that he owned the frontage all the way down to the Pacific.  She was fucking a dude who had his own  _ beach, _  which was a little surreal for a girl from the metaphorical wrong side of the tracks.

 

Somehow, he got under her skin after that.  And not just in a sex way, or even a ‘fucking a rich dude has its perks’ way, both of which she could have handled.  But Roan didn’t just want to fuck her— he wanted to  _ know  _ her.  And she let him, despite every synapse in her brain telling her not to.

 

“Did you always want to be a music producer?” he asked one night in her bed, her head pillowed on his chest.  His fingers were trailing up and down her back, lulling her to sleep.  It was the first time he’d come to her house and there was a part of her that felt weird about it, because Roan did not fit in her dingy bungalow.  Everything about him was crisp and clean and expensive, while her bathtub had weird orange stains and the paint in the living room was chipped and peeling.

 

“Nope.  I wanted to be an astronaut.  Or maybe just work for NASA.  Build rockets and shit,” she admitted with a sheepish laugh.  

 

“What changed?”

 

“College is fucking expensive and doing what I’m good at is free.”  She kissed his chest absentmindedly, wondering why she was bothering to tell him all this.  “I took an astronomy course online once though.  It was fun.”

 

“So...you grew up...poor?” 

 

Raven laughed.  “It’s not a dirty word.  Yeah, I grew up poor.  What, you think I come from money like you and just live in a shithole with someone I found on Craigslist for fun?”

 

“Do we— or, I, I suppose, pay...well?”

 

“You offering me a raise?”

 

“No, I’m just— I’m wondering.”

 

“The pay is fine.  Pretty much what any studio would offer me.  I could make more if I did freelance, but…”  She trailed off, wondering if she was getting too personal.

 

“But?” he prompted.

 

“I wouldn’t have health insurance that way.  Your insurance is crap, by the way, but with my hip I can’t afford to go it alone.  The premiums would bankrupt me.”

 

Roan’s hand drifted down near the mass of scars that she usually tried to ignore.  “What happened?” he whispered.

 

“Stray bullet.  Walking home from the bus one night.”

 

Roan sat up, dislodging her.  She’d never seen him look so concerned, and it made her chest feel tight.  “You were shot?”

 

“It’s a rough neighborhood,” she shrugged.  She left out the rest— the months of surgery and physical therapy, the pain and the anger and the loneliness.  Finn paid for everything (he pretended like there was a fund from the state that paid for crime victim’s health problems, but she knew he was lying) and that was why she could never fully hate him, even after everything.  She let him handle the bills because he’d grown up in the same two-stoplight town she did, in a house that was a mirror image of hers (only his dad didn’t run off before Finn even learned to walk, and his mom was capable of holding down a steady job).  Finn was the closest thing to family she had left, so she pretended she believed his lie about the fund.

 

“Will it ever get better?”

 

“Not fully,” she said with a breeziness she didn’t quite feel.  “Clarke's mom keeps pushing me to see a surgeon out here for something that might improve it a little, but this is me now.”

 

“You don’t want the surgery?”

 

“It’s expensive.  And it’s not like it would fix anything; not really, anyway.”

 

Roan opened his mouth like he was going to say something so she kissed him instead.  It took a moment for him to respond, but then he was kissing her back and settling into the cradle of her hips, ready for round two.

  
  



	16. Harper

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Harper and Monroe relax a little in the midst of managing World Tours and unruly pop stars.

“Clarke is the best boss ever,” Harper declared.  Monroe’s head rested on her shoulder, sleepy like she always was after sex.

 

“Mmph,” Monroe grunted, which Harper took to mean she agreed.  

 

“Seriously, thank her for flying you here.  It’s been hell, this tour.”

 

“The boys still hate each other?” Monroe yawned.

 

“Bellamy and Miller are fine, because they’re always fine, even that time they almost hooked up.  But Finn’s completely checked out, even more than Bellamy.”

 

“How’s Murphy?”

 

“He thinks we don’t know his girlfriend or whatever is going to get him arrested sometime, but she totally is.  She’s a complete wildcard, and I get that he likes her, but…”

 

“...she’s going to make your life difficult?”

 

Harper sighed.  “Basically.  Clarke still running a tight ship?”

 

“She’s a pro.  Learned a lot from the Finn thing.”

 

“We all did,” Harper said with a grimace.  Her fingers played with the ends of Monroe’s hair and Monroe moved to settle a little more closely along Harper’s side.

 

“Is Kane on your ass about that Paris picture?”

 

“Yeah, still is.  I told him it was just a mistake, but he’s pissed that we lost control of our narrative for awhile.  Seems to have died down though.”

 

“Yeah, Clarke only got one question about him last press junket, so hopefully they’ve moved on.”

 

Harper kissed Monroe’s forehead.  “Do you have any plans for after the tour?”

 

Monroe arched her neck and kissed her back lazily.  “More of this.  And sleeping in my own bed.  With you.”

 

“When do you have to catch your flight?”

 

“Not until tomorrow afternoon.  I was thinking we could order in tonight and then go out for breakfast tomorrow.  Clarke said there’s a nice breakfast place just around the corner.  Now roll over,” Monroe ordered.

 

Harper curled on her side and Monroe draped her arm over her ribcage, pulling her back securely against her chest.  “I’m really glad you kissed me in New York, by the way.”

 

“I’m really glad you thought my door was Murphy’s,” Monroe mumbled, her lips pressing soft kisses to Harper’s shoulder.

 

Harper sighed.  “I never did yell at him about that pot smell, did I?”

 

“It’s fine,” Monroe soothed.  “Really.  Worked out for the best, didn’t it?”

 

“It did,” Harper agreed, and let Monroe pull her just a little closer.

 


	17. Clarke (II)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Things with Clarke and Lexa start to go south.
> 
> And not in a fun way.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (Clexa fans, if you're reading this: you might want to skip this one. And any other Bellamy or Clarke chapters after this, unless you're down for bellarke endgame.)

Clarke’s laptop made a tinny ringing sound, and she set her dad’s guitar aside and hit accept.  “Hey,” she said as Lexa’s face filled the screen.  “How was…?”

 

“Omaha,” Lexa said, a little sourly.

 

“Was the show good?”

 

“It was,” she admitted.  “Working on something?” Lexa asked, nodding at the guitar on the bed.

 

“That thing I started writing with Bellamy,” Clarke said and propped her head on her hand as she leaned on her side.  “I’ve been playing with some lyrics— I think it might even make my next album.  It’s good.”

 

Lexa frowned.  “Your next album,” she repeated.  “Um, okay.”

 

“What?  I’ve played it for you.  It’s good.”

 

“It is, for...for what you’re doing now.”

 

“What I’m doing  _ now," _  Clarke echoed.  “What does that mean?”

 

“We talked about it when you visited Detroit,” Lexa said.  “You’ve got more in you than this bubblegum princess shit.”

 

Clarke straightened.  “Princess shit?”

 

Lexa rubbed her eyes and sighed.  “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean it like that.  I'm tired. I just meant...you’re better than this, you know?  I thought we agreed when you came to Detroit, you’d finish this tour out and then do some rethinking.”

 

“Yeah, I meant— I don’t know, maybe do a shorter tour next time.  Less press or something.  Take a year off.  What did you think I meant by that?” Clarke asked, her heart pounding.   _ Princess shit? _   Lexa preferred a rougher-edge sound for her songs, but that was what worked for her.  It wasn’t what worked for Clarke.  And there was nothing wrong with either of their sounds.  They balanced each other out.  (.. _.didn’t they?) _

 

“I thought you’d consider joining Polis when your contract is up— we'd give you so much more freedom to explore your sound, you know?”

 

“What’s wrong with my sound?”

 

“Nothing, it’s just— god, you could do so much  _ more, _  you know?  Be a real visionary.”

 

“So my music is pedestrian,” Clarke said flatly.

 

“You know it is,” Lexa said, and Clarke’s heart either stopped working or went into overdrive, she wasn’t sure which.  “But you’re so talented.  You have so much potential.  I don’t want to see you squander it writing top forty hits for teenage girls.”

 

Rage surged through Clarke’s veins and she slammed her laptop shut without even saying goodbye.

 

_ Lexa didn’t actually believe in her. _

 


	18. Clarke (III)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Clarke turns to Bellamy in a time of need.

Clarke tried to pay attention to the game show she was watching, but her eyes kept blurring over with tears and obscuring the subtitles.  It was no use— she couldn’t focus on anything when her heart felt like it was being ripped out of her chest.

 

She and Lexa were through.

 

It was a long, slow disintegration over the past few weeks, full of fights over skype and days without speaking where Clarke would put on her best pop princess smile— the smile that Lexa accused her of faking and now she was, because it was her fucking  _ job  _ to put on a show and she thought Lexa understood that, but apparently not— and try and make it through a show without cracking.  Monroe was doing her best, but Monroe was an employee and there was only so much Clarke could tell her.

 

An ad for a morning talk show came on and Clarke sat up because she recognized Bellamy’s face.  It was a promo shot from his old tour, but that reminded her— he was in Tokyo tonight too.

 

Bellamy would understand.

 

_ Clarke Griffin _

_ 9:21pm _

_ You in Tokyo yet? _

 

_ Bellamy Blake _

_ 9:21pm _

_ Just landed.  Not entirely sure what time it is, though.  You? _

 

_ Clarke Griffin _

_ 9:21pm _

_ I am.  My show’s not until tomorrow night and I could use a friend tonight. _

 

Bellamy texted her his hotel and room number, and Clarke got dressed and knocked on Monroe’s door.  It took a little preparation, but half an hour later she was in a red wig with a hat and giant sunglasses, which Clarke argued would just make her look suspicious but Monroe pointed out they would hide her very recognizable face, and knocking on his hotel room door.

 

Bellamy opened it and let her in quickly.  She hadn’t seen him since Paris, but they had texted a few times.  She still felt guilty about her role in his breakup, although he’d assured her that it was mostly his fault.  Clarke wasn’t sure what he meant by that, but let it drop.

 

She tossed the wig on the dresser with her sunglasses and plastered a smile on her face.  “Hey there,” she said brightly.  “Long time no see.”

 

Bellamy leaned his shoulder against the wall and surveyed her.  “What’s wrong?”

 

At some point on her drive over she’d started feeling weird about seeking him out for comfort, so she lied.  “Nothing.  Just wanted to say hi.”

 

“Clarke,” he warned.  “What’s wrong?”  His dark brown eyes bored into hers, and her smile faltered.

 

“Nothing,” she said again, but her voice was shaky.

 

“Clarke,” he said again, and suddenly, there were tears welling up in her eyes.

 

“I broke up with Lexa,” she admitted, and the dam burst.

 

Bellamy didn’t hesitate, just pulled her into his arms.  Just like that night on the roof she fit in them perfectly, his heart thumping reassuringly under her ear as she soaked his thin cotton t-shirt with her tears.  He murmured nonsense while she cried, stroking her hair and rocking her back and forth.  At some point they moved to his king-sized bed and he let her curl against him until the tears and ugly choking breaths had passed.

 

Clarke lifted her salt-stained face fifteen minutes later and gave him a watery smile.  “Sorry about that,” she said.

 

Bellamy handed her a tissue from the nightstand.  “It’s fine.  Breakups suck.”

 

“Sorry about Gina,” she said for probably the fifth time.  Bellamy lifted and dropped one shoulder.  “What happened?  You seemed pretty sure she’d understand.”

 

He looked down at his hands.  “I lied to her, though.  I never... I never told her we were friends.”

 

Clarke settled back against the headboard.  “Why?”  She blew her nose noisily.

 

“I don’t know.  I think— no, I don’t know.  I really don’t; I’m just an idiot.  What happened with Lexa?”

 

“She wanted me to be someone I’m not.”

 

“Fuck that,” he said hotly.  “Fuck.  That.”

 

“No, it’s—”

 

“I didn’t say fuck her,” Bellamy clarified, but he still sounded angry.  “I’m just sick of pretending.  You shouldn’t— you shouldn’t have to pretend.  Not with her.”  He swallowed thickly and then hopped off the bed abruptly.  “I’ve been thinking about that song we started working on in Paris,” he said, flipping open the clasps to his guitar case.  “Want to hear?”

 

“Yeah,” Clarke replied and cleared her throat.  Bellamy sat down next to her and started playing.  She closed her eyes and let the soft guitar strums wash over her, and wondered if he knew that she’d originally imagined the song as a duet between her and someone with a deep baritone like him.  She threw herself into the music and for the next three hours, they worked.  They clicked, just like that night in Paris, and the vise around her heart started easing slightly.  Lexa might not like her sound, but at least Bellamy respected it.  Actually, it was more than that-- he understood it.  It wasn't his sound, not by a long shot, but he seemed to just... _know_ what hers should be.

 

She was on her fourth yawn when Bellamy stopped the guitar strings with his palm.  “You need sleep, don’t you?” he asked.  She nodded, and the screws in her heart started tightening again.  Clarke didn’t want to spend another night in a hotel room, alone and sad.  She’d been like that for the last two weeks and she was fucking sick of it.  “You can stay here, if you want,” Bellamy offered. “In a bed this big it wouldn’t even be like we were sharing.”  He wouldn’t look at her and pretended tune the guitar instead.

 

“That would be nice,” she said, relieved.  Bellamy handed her his guitar and started rummaging through his suitcase.  The wood was warm where he’d held it, an impression of his talent burning into her palms.

 

He pulled a shirt out, sniffed it, and tossed it at her.  “Here,” he said.  “That one should be clean, and there should be an extra toothbrush in the bathroom.”

 

If his eyes flickered to her bare legs when she emerged from the bathroom it was only for a heartbeat.  She climbed under the covers and Bellamy went to brush his teeth, turning off the lights when he came back.  “I— uh, I usually sleep shirtless, if that’s okay?  Or is that weird?”

 

“It’s fine,” she said, even though a part of her felt like if this was really nothing— just friends, just comfort— it probably would be weird.  He pulled his shirt off and climbed under the covers a respectable distance away.  “Good night,” she murmured.

 

“Night,” he replied.

 

An hour later, the tears returned.  She tried to choke them down, but sometimes, it would just hit her like a wave— loneliness and betrayal, threatening to drown her.  So she gave in and kept them as quiet as she could, but Bellamy rolled over to face her.  “Come here,” he whispered, opening his arms.  She let him encircle her with them, buried her face in his chest, and eventually, the tears slowed and sleep claimed them both.

  
  



	19. Raven (V)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Roan screws up.

“Raven,” Roan growled warningly, his hand fisting her ponytail.

 

She pulled her lips off his cock.  “Yes?” she asked with an arched eyebrow.  Roan glared at her and she smirked before lowering her mouth back down.  She’d been teasing him all night, bringing him right to the edge and then easing off.  It was torture and she knew it, because he did it to her _constantly._   That was just how they were, and damn did it work for her.

 

For him too, if the noises he was making when she ran her tongue along the underside of his shaft were any indication.  She took him deeper and he moaned, his hand tightening in her hair.  The sharp tug sent a wave of arousal through her and Raven squirmed a little, but kept her attention focused on him.  She was resting on her side perpendicular to him and Roan pushed his head back into the pillow when she dragged her lips back up and swirled her tongue across the tip.  He was all she could taste, and his murmured  _ fuck fuck fuck  _ made her want to grin.  But instead she used her free hand to tug gently on his balls and swallowed his cock until it was as far as her mouth would take it— she’d thought Bellamy and Finn were well hung, but neither of them had anything on Roan— and let him come.

 

Roan pulled her up to kiss him as soon as he’d finished, his tongue tracing the seam of her lips as he rolled her onto her back.  “Fuck,” he mumbled against her lips.  “Fuck.”

 

“So you liked that?”

 

He busied himself sucking what would probably be a bruise on her collarbone.  “After a fashion,” he growled.  She loved that— his voice was positively  _ feral  _ during sex— and she smiled to herself.

 

“After a fashion?” she asked, and he started moving down her torso, his scruff tickling her stomach.

 

He rested his cheek on her hipbone and smirked up at her.  “I might have enjoyed myself, but mostly because turnabout’s fair play.”

 

Raven’s groan turned to a high pitched keen when he settled on his stomach between her legs and sucked on her clit without warning.

 

This may be her grave, but she’d dug it happily.

 

**

 

Roan was gone when she woke up the next morning.  That wasn’t unusual; he was kind of a workaholic, and when he wasn’t working he was usually running or surfing.

 

Oh god, she was fucking a guy who  _ surfed. _  Her life would be a nightmare if it wasn’t so much goddamn fun.

 

She did the whole girlfriend thing and put on the shirt he’d worn the night before (he liked that, and she liked what it did to him) and grabbed the crutch he’d bought for her.  That was the closest they’d ever come to a fight, but she had to admit, it was easier than having to bring hers or put her brace on every time she had to get out of his bed to take a leak.

 

He wasn’t in the kitchen, and his office on the first floor was empty.  She checked out on the spacious patio that faced the ocean since sometimes Roan went out there to make phone calls and drink his coffee, but no sign of him.

 

Finally, she noticed the piece of paper lying on the island.   _ Surfing, --R _ was all it said, and Raven allowed herself an eye roll.  He was a tool, but he was a handsome and rich tool who gave her two orgasms last night, so she’d allow it.  She dug some yogurt and granola out of his giant fridge and poured herself a cup of coffee for breakfast.

 

Raven was almost done with her coffee when she noticed it— another piece of paper underneath his note.  She trapped it against the marble counter with her fingernail and slid it out, only for her chest to tighten when she saw what it was.

 

It was a check, made out to her, for $20,000.

 

**

 

She’d managed to get dressed before Roan came back from the beach, although her hands shook when she clipped her brace back on.  He was still in his wetsuit, skinned down to his waist with his hair dripping down his chest.  Normally she would have taken the opportunity to ogle him a little and maybe try and convince him to spend the day in bed, but today all she could see was a red haze.  “Hey,” he said easily, not noticing the way she was sitting ramrod straight at the counter.  “Have a good morning?” Roan grabbed a bottle of water from the fridge— bottled water, because rich people like him thought they were somehow above tap— and cracked it open.

 

“What the fuck is this?” she asked as calmly as she could.  She pointed to the check in front of her and raised an eyebrow.

 

“What’s what?  Oh, that.”  He drained half of the water bottle in three long gulps.  “I called a buddy of mine who works in Orthopedics at USC.  He said twenty grand should probably cover any surgery you need, but obviously if it runs more I’ve got it.”

 

“You’ve got it?”

 

Roan seemed to realize he was suddenly on thin ice.  “You said you didn’t want to have the surgery because you couldn’t afford it.  But I can, so you can too now,” he said carefully.

 

“You realize this makes me your whore, right?” she spat.  

 

“What?  No, I—”

 

“You going to pay me extra if I suck your dick real good? Maybe an extra ten thousand if I’ll do anal?”

 

“What the  _ fuck? _ ” he exploded.  “I’m trying to help.  You know it’s not like that.”

 

“No?  Then what is it like?  Please, enlighten the poor Latina what it’s like when her boss fucks her and then gives her an extra twenty thousand dollars, just because.”

 

His eyes went hard and his lips became a thin, white line.  “You know it’s not like that,” he repeated.  

 

“Right.  You’re trying to help, even though I never fucking asked you too.”

 

He reached out and picked up the check, tearing it into tiny pieces right in front of her.  “There.  Problem solved,” he growled, holding his hands up and letting the remnants flutter down.  “I know my place now.  I won’t try and help you again.”

 

“Fuck you,” she replied, her voice suddenly unreliable.  She got up, grabbed her car keys and looked at him one last time, rage contorting his normally handsome features.  “Fuck.  You.”

 

She left without another word.

 

He didn’t try to stop her.

 


	20. Clarke (V)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The morning brings new clarity for Clarke.

Clarke blinked.  Thick curtains blocked most of the light but some leaked in around the edges, bright and clear.  She felt like she was waiting for something, straining to remember—

 

— Lexa.

 

That was it.  The weight settled on her chest and she rolled over.  Bellamy had his back to her, his shoulder rising and falling in time with his breaths.  The weight was a little lighter this morning than it had been since things fell apart, and it was thanks to him.  He’d held her when she needed to be held, distracted her when she needed to be distracted, and didn’t try and convince her she needed to feel anything other than what she felt.

 

Gratitude surged through her veins and she trailed her finger down his back, watching the contrast between her pale digit and his tawny skin with mild interest.  Bellamy rolled over, awake, and pinned his hand underneath his pillow, his jaw resting on his bicep.  The bed had acres of space but somehow they’d both ended up sleeping in the middle, seeking one another’s warmth even while unconscious.  “You okay?” he asked, his voice rough with sleep.  He reached out and tucked a lock of her hair back behind her ears, his fingers brushing against the shell of her ear.  He looked concerned, focused, like he  _ cared. _

 

The rest of the world faded away because right here, right now, Bellamy was looking at her with such a tender expression that nothing else mattered.  So Clarke raised her head and kissed him, her hand curving along his jaw.  He had a few days worth of stubble but his lips were soft and smooth.  At first it was like he was cut from stone, so still she wondered if this was a dream or a nightmare and she was about to wake up, but then he was taking her face in his hands and returning the kiss, his tongue seeking entrance to her mouth as she climbed on top of him, and Clarke knew this moment was real in more ways than one.

 

His hands slipped underneath the hem of her— his, really— shirt, skimming up the sides of her ribcage to cup her breasts and she ground her hips down on his morning erection, wrenching a moan from the back of his throat.  Bellamy sat up, bringing her more firmly into his lap, and dropped his hands back to her waist, but then he broke the seal of their lips.

 

Clarke whined and tried to chase his mouth, but he leaned back and she noticed his eyes.  The weight on her chest returned, a warning as glaring as a siren, but she ignored it.   “Wait,” he said, a little breathless.  His lips were already swollen but his eyes were losing their dazed look.  “Wait, I don’t...I…” he stammered, and she tried to kiss him again because every second that he didn’t, the weight on her heart got heavier.  “Clarke, I can’t,” he said, and she climbed off of his lap, wishing her eyes weren’t filling with tears.

 

Bellamy scrubbed a hand over his face and sighed.  “I’m sorry,” he started.  “I just— I can’t, I don’t know, I can’t be— I need this to be about more than just forgetting.”

 

“I didn’t—”

 

“-- you’re just getting over a breakup,” Bellamy interrupted.  “I won’t help you forget her, not when you mean— not when we’re friends like this.”

 

Her face burned with embarrassment but even as that realization set in, anger started to take its place.  “So you know what’s best for me?” She climbed out of the bed and practically tore his shirt off, throwing it in his face.  Clarke didn’t give a shit that she was naked except for her underwear, and all she could hear was the pounding in her ears.  “You know how I’m feeling better than myself?  You know for a fact I kissed you to get over Lexa, not because I wanted to kiss you?”  What made things worse was she wasn’t  _ sure  _ why she kissed him— part of her wanted to forget, but a part of her felt like this had been growing underneath her very nose for longer than she’d realized.

 

She located her clothes and jammed her leg into her jeans and wished there was a more dignified way to get dressed while arguing.  “I’m sorry,” he started, but she held her hand up.

 

“Don’t.  Okay?  Just don’t.  I’m fucking sick of people telling me what I’m good at and how I’m feeling.  I thought you’d be different, but you’re not.”  She threw the wig on her head and practically ran out the door, praying that no one would notice her.

  
  



	21. Bellamy (VIII)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bellamy and Raven commiserate.

“I told you he was a dick,” Bellamy grumbled at Raven.  He was stretched out on her couch, five empty beer bottles decorating the coffee table in front of him.  Raven’s feet were tucked under his armpit and she had an impressive four bottles on her half of the table.

 

“You did.  And I guess I should have told you not to try to bang Clarke Griffin, but you never fucking told me you wanted to.”

 

“I didn’t know I wanted to,” he groaned, throwing his arm across his face.  “Not until right then, and then...I fucked it up.”

 

“By trying to tell her how she should feel?  Yeah, no wonder she hulked out on you.  I would have too.”

 

“Judging by how things ended with Roan, of course you would have.”

 

“Fuck you,” Raven said without any real heat.

 

“Yeah, fuck you too,” Bellamy muttered.  Silence fell and they each sipped their beers.    “Oh, I promised Miller you’d throw a party now that we’re back,” he said after a bit.

 

“Awesome.  Thanks for the heads up.  Any particular reason?”

 

Bellamy shook his head no, then changed and nodded.  “He’s got a thing for your friend Monty.”

 

“Monty mentioned knowing him...wait, is Miller  _ Nate?" _

 

“That is his first name, yes.”

 

“No,  _ Monty’s  _ Nate.”

 

“How the fuck am I supposed to know?  What does that even mean?”

 

“We were talking one night about, you know, our  _ one that got away. _ ”

 

“I’m yours, aren’t I?” Bellamy teased.

 

“You wish.  No, Monty was saying— he had this crush all through high school, on this like, jock.  His name was Nate, and they kissed, but then Monty went off to MIT and they never spoke again.  Think that’s him?”

 

“There’s a good chance, I’d say.  So are you in?”

 

“Ugh, fine.  I’ll throw you the damn party, but just because Monty deserves to get laid.  You’re paying for the booze, though.”

 

“Deal.  At least one of our friends will get some happiness,” he said, not quite as lightly as he intended.

 

Raven swung her legs down off the couch and buried her face in her hands.  “Let’s face it— we’re fuck ups, aren’t we?”

 

“Fuck ups who ruin any chance at personal happiness, that’s us.”  He sat up too and mirrored her pose.  “At least we have each other,” he said, bumping their shoulders together.

 

He wasn’t sure who kissed who first, just that suddenly, his lips were on hers and then they were fumbling towards her bedroom.  It was sloppy and rushed, both of them drunk, and if Bellamy was perfectly honest, completely unsatisfying.

 

“We should not have done that,” Raven said after, lying next to him and staring at her ceiling.  Neon plastic stars shone down on them, and he swallowed thickly.

 

“No.  That was a bad idea,” he agreed.  They weren’t touching, just lying parallel to each other, horrified.  “And no offense, but that was…”

 

“...really not up to our usual standard?  Yeah, definitely.  That was not our best effort.”  Raven covered her face with her hands again.  “God, Roan has like, ruined me for other dicks.”

 

“Cute,” Bellamy said with an eyeroll and started searching Raven’s floor for his boxers.  “We, um, probably shouldn’t do that again, though.”

 

Raven sighed and it morphed into a groan.  “No, we shouldn’t.  God, feelings fucking suck, don’t they?”

 

“They do,”  Bellamy agreed.  “They really fucking do.”

 


	22. Clarke (VI)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Clarke gets reckless.

 

It was a huge fucking risk, sitting in a bar like this.  Even with the red wig— a better one than the time she snuck out to see Bellamy, and more tightly secured to her scalp this time— someone could recognize her, and not even the fake ID identifying her as Gabrielle Jaha instead of International Superstar Clarke Griffin would save her.  But she was going to completely lose her goddamn mind if she spent another night holed up in her hotel room alone, so here she was, in a bar in San Francisco, drinking and hoping the patrons weren't big fans of Top 40 pop.

 

She hadn’t even tried to text Bellamy after the fiasco that was Tokyo.  She wasn’t sure how she could make him see that she knew why he’d stopped, but that what she felt for him wasn’t  _ just  _ about forgetting.  It was about how she felt  _ with  _ him, like she didn’t need to be anyone but herself.  It was about the way he would offer to hold her because he knew she was lonely; his compassion and his strength and his ability to just...let her be herself, in the purest way possible.  But she wasn’t sure how to tell him that, not after he’d shown just how much he  _ didn’t  _ feel the same way.

 

A tall blonde woman took the seat next to her and ordered an old fashioned, glancing at Clarke out of the corner of her eye.  Her hair was long and straight, with none of Lexa’s soft waves or Bellamy’s dark curls.  Her cheekbones were sharp and her eyes keen, and Clarke made another stupid fucking decision in a night full of them.

 

**

 

Niylah’s studio was small and cramped, full of run down chairs she was reupholstering and paintings she’d bought at a flea market.  Clarke paused in front of her low platform bed, deciding to finally pay attention to the voice in her head that sounded suspiciously like Monroe hissing  _ bad idea, Clarke. _   She’d dulled it with her cranberry vodkas, but now... now she was nervous.  Clarke Griffin did not let her mask slip often, but she’d just left a bar with a woman she didn’t know.  If Niylah went to the press— if she managed to take a photo of Clarke, anything— it would be...a whole big thing.  Not enough to ruin her at this point, but ever since Finn, Clarke had so carefully controlled her story that the thought of losing that control made her shudder.  Even her slip up with Bellamy in Paris had rattled her, so doing this...it was reckless, to say the least.

 

Niylah wrapped her arms around Clarke’s waist from behind and tucked her chin on her shoulder.  Niylah nuzzled her for a moment, and Clarke decided to let herself be held.  It was a weakness of hers, this need for physical connection, a weakness that had ruined her friendship with Bellamy.  But Niylah wasn’t Bellamy and she wasn’t Lexa, so Clarke tipped her head back and let Niylah kiss her neck.

 

It felt good to have a connection with someone, even if everything else between them was a lie. Somehow, it felt more real than anything had since her life started imploding.  Niylah’s lips were soft and her tongue was deft, and one orgasm washed into another, and slowly the tension left her body.

 

**

 

Clarke bolted upright a few hours later in a panic.  She’d fallen asleep, lulled by Niylah’s soft caresses and whispers of nonsense.  Things had felt so right before, so at peace, but now...now everything was wrong.  Niylah’s long arm was draped over her stomach, but the weight was off.  Too light.  Her breathing was slow, but the timbre was wrong, too high; nothing like Bellamy’s deep rumble.

 

Niylah wasn’t who she wanted, so Clarke slipped out quietly, her decision made.

 

Now she just had to figure out how to fix things.

 


	23. Miller (II)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Everything's coming up Minty.

“Come on, Bell— please?”

 

“O, it’s not a matter of wanting to, it’s that I can’t.  My backyard is just a giant hill.  We can’t have a wedding there.  There’s no space.”

 

“Have it here!” Raven offered and threw an arm around Bellamy with a cheeky grin.  “Think of the headlines— 'Teeny Bopper Princess Gets Married In A Dump.'”

 

Lincoln’s face twitched into something resembling a smile, but Miller still hadn’t seen Bellamy do anything more than scowl at the older man.  The two men had shared a tense handshake, and that was it.  Bellamy had promised him that Monty would be here which was enough to get him to the party, but now Miller was regretting it— being a fourth wheel to an awkward family conversation was not exactly his favorite activity.  Monty was secreted in the kitchen with the drinks alongside a gawky kid Raven had told him was named Jasper and Miller was contemplating just...leaving.  He wasn’t even sure Monty knew he was  _ here _ , and he should just go say hi—  _ I am an internationally desired pop star,  _ he reasoned— but suddenly he felt like he was back in high school, nursing a silent crush.

And crushes are the  _worst._

Which meant Raven had thrown this entire party for him to bump Monty and now he was being too cowardly to do anything about it,  _ and  _ he was stuck in a conversation about Octavia’s wedding that he really didn’t want to be a part of.  Just then, a familiar head of dark hair emerged from the kitchen and Raven waved him over.  “Monty!” she yelled, cutting off Bellamy mid-protest-about-something-Octavia-wanted.

 

Miller’s heart did a flip flop as Monty looked over and made eye contact, and then did a flip flop  _ again  _ when he realized Monty was...blushing.  “Hey Monty, I don’t think you’ve ever met these guys.  This is Bellamy, Octavia, Lincoln, and—”

 

“Nate,” Monty finished quietly.  “Yeah, he and went to high school together,” he said, his eyes darting between Raven and Miller.

 

“Well, how about  that ,” Raven said maybe a little too pointedly, but Miller barely heard her, because...Monty was still blushing.

 

And  _ staring at him _ .  

 

Miller swallowed thickly, and Bellamy redirected the conversation back to Octavia’s wedding.  “I was going to get something to drink,” he said, taking the opportunity Bellamy was handing him.  “Let them fight this out.”

 

“Oh, um...yeah, kitchen’s that way?” Monty said.  Miller wanted to curse himself— Monty had just  _ come _ from the kitchen; why would he want to go back?— but Monty fell into step beside him, so...crisis averted.  For now.

 

“So...you’re...still at MIT?” he asked, just for something to say.  

 

“What are you drinking?” Monty asked.

 

“Gin and tonic.”

 

“Okay, I got that,” Monty replied.  “And um, no.  Not anymore.  Apparently they frown on you selling pot out of your dorm room.”  He got to work mixing Miller a drink while Miller got distracted by Monty’s long, tapered fingers.  “So now I’m a pizza delivery guy in an electronica band. My parents are very disappointed.”

 

Miller let out a bark of laughter.  “Yours are?  I’m pretty sure my dad wants to die every time he sees me on TV.”

 

Monty handed him the red cup and their fingers brushed for a second, which made Miller’s stomach do it’s third flip flop of the last four minutes.  “Come on, I’m pretty sure pop star is preferable to drug dealer.”  Monty raised his eyebrows when Miller started to argue and laughed.  “Trust me, dude.  It’s better.”

 

Miller took a gulp of his gin and tonic and a sudden bout of reckless courage seized him.  “I always wondered, you know.  What would have happened.”

 

“What would have— oh,” Monty said, looking down.  “If I hadn’t had to leave the next day, you mean?  I don’t know...I probably would have fucked it up.”

 

“ _ You  _ would have?”

 

“I had a crush on you for like, four years.  Yeah, I would have messed it up somehow.  Gotten weird or something,” Monty said, grabbing a beer from the counter and avoiding eye contact.

 

“Wait, you had a crush...on me?”

 

Monty looked at him in disbelief.  “You know you’re a teen idol, right?  Of course I did.”

 

“Oh.”  Someone pushed past him and Miller took a step closer to Monty.  He set his plastic cup down on the formica counter and caught Monty’s now fidgeting hand in his.  “I….might have had a crush on you too?”

 

Monty looked up, surprised, and Miller took the opportunity to kiss him.  It was just supposed to be a peck, but then Monty’s hands came up to cup his face and Miller couldn’t back down then.

Monty tasted like beer, his lips moving softly against his own.  Miller tilted his head to deepen the kiss and then he was pushing Monty back against the counter because it was like high school all over again.  He’d always told himself he was being stupid, comparing every guy to Monty, but now he was kissing Monty, and...he’d been right to compare.

 

Because no one else did.

 


	24. Raven (VI)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Roan makes a gesture.

“There’s somebody outside,” Jasper slurred at Raven.

 

“What?” she asked, opening another beer.  “Cops?”  Her neighborhood wasn’t the type to call the cops for anything less than gunshots, and even then there was only a 50/50 chance.

 

“Nope.  Some dude in a suit.  Bellamy’s talking to him, but he looks pissed.”

 

Raven’s heart contracted and the lightness she’d felt since seeing Miller and Monty making out in a corner evaporated.  There was only one guy in a suit who would come visit her unless she was now wanted by the FBI for that stupid shit she and Monty pulled with Gina’s financials.  “Is he, um...is he the guy from the bar?”

 

“That’s who it is!” Jasper cheered.  “I thought I recognized him.  Yeah.  Him.”

 

“Wait, and Bellamy’s talking to him?”   _Fuck._ _This will not end well._   Raven abandoned her beer and pushed her way to the front door where sure enough, Bellamy was standing on her porch with his arms crossed like he was a bouncer facing down an unruly drunk at a club, not a boy band member staring down _his fucking boss._

 

“If you’re so sure she wants to see you, why didn’t you let her know you’re coming?”  Bellamy asked in his best  _ don’t fuck with me  _ voice.

 

Roan was standing at the bottom of the stairs a good three feet below him but somehow didn’t look at all diminished.  “I simply want to speak with Raven,” Roan said calmly.  “If now’s not a good time…?”

 

“It’s not,” Bellamy boomed.  “She’s having fun.  You don’t get to fuck that up for her.”

 

Roan’s eyebrows shot up and Raven decided it was time to stop this before Bellamy got his ass blacklisted.  “It’s okay, Bell.  I’ve got this,” she said.  The screen door slammed shut behind her, bouncing noisily against the frame.

 

Bellamy gave her a searching look, but at her nod he clenched his jaw and ducked back inside.  He closed the inner door too, muffling the sound from Jasper’s speakers.  Roan waited at the foot of the stairs, but she grabbed his arm and dragged him towards the sidewalk and his stupid Maserati before she spoke.  “What do you want, Roan?”

 

“To speak with you.”

 

“I’m here.  Speak.”

 

Roan glanced back at her house.  “I...I had somewhere else in mind.”

 

“Somewhere else in mind?  To talk?”

 

He nodded, his gaze still flickering between her and the house.  “It’s...something I wanted to show you.”

 

“Can it wait?”

 

“Not really.”

 

“So you expect me to leave my guests?  Because you showed up with a cryptic mission?”

 

“I didn’t know you’d be having a party,” he said, and he sounded...genuine.  And disappointed.  Maybe even a little sad.  “It’s quite all right.  Go back to your friends.”

 

Raven closed her eyes and cursed herself, because she hated him but she hadn’t stopped missing him.  Sex with Bellamy was supposed to help her get over him— it helped her get over Finn and Wick, after all— but all it had done was remind her of how real things felt with Roan.  “You have one hour,” she said, and pulled out her phone to text Bellamy  _ going somewhere with Roan to talk.  Don’t call the cops. _

 

Roan was quiet but fidgety as they drove; he kept tapping his thumbs against the steering wheel and glaring at stoplights whenever they hit a red.  When he turned onto Los Feliz she looked at him and raised her eyebrows, and as they navigated the twisty road up to the Observatory she gave him a pointed look.  “You wanted to show me Griffith’s Observatory?  You know I’ve lived in LA for like, six years, right?”

 

Roan smirked and her stomach exploded with butterflies, because she loved that fucking smirk and what it meant.  He was a cocky jackass half the time, but the cockiness was earned— he really was that good.  At everything.  It was obnoxious.  She looked out the window and scowled, annoyed with her body for betraying her like that.  He stopped the car in front of two black town cars that were blockading the drive to the white art deco building.  It was the first place she’d visited when she first moved to LA, not that she had never told him that.  (Or maybe she had.  She had a bad habit of telling him things when she was sleepy and stupid after he made her come.)

 

Raven got out and motioned to the men standing behind the cars, identically dressed in dark suits with their hands clasped in front of them.  “You bring me up here to murder me?” she asked.

 

Roan laughed, and there went her stomach again.  “No, not that.  Gentlemen?” he asked, and the men moved aside.  Raven followed him past the cars and the bouncers to the wide, flat field that welcomed visitors to the Observatory.  Aside from the two of them and the men in suits, the entire place was deserted.

 

“Okay, you’re gonna have to tell me why we’re here, because really, it does feel kind of murder-y up here,” she said.

 

Roan stopped walking and turned to face her.  “I...rented this.  For the night.”  

 

“You rented...the entire observatory?”

 

“I did.”

 

“For...me?”  His blue eyes found hers and she would never, ever tell anyone this— least of all Roan— but her heart stopped.  Fucking  _ stopped. _

 

“For you.”

 

She waited for her heart to start beating again, and when it did, she felt like laughing.  “You realize this is like, the cheesiest possible thing you could have done, right?” she asked, barely managing to suppress a giggle.

 

A smile twitched at the corners of his lips.  “I do.  But you’re at least a little impressed, aren’t you?” he asked in that teasing purr she’d grown so stupidly fond of.

 

Raven bit her lip to keep the smile off her face.  “Maybe,” she conceded.  “Do I get to use the telescope?”

 

“The telescope and anything else you want.”  He smiled for real that time, a quick flash of teeth in the darkness.  “So am I forgiven?”

 

Raven started to walk as casually as she could towards the observatory.  “Forgiven?” she asked archly.  “I don’t remember hearing an apology.”

 

“Fair enough.  I’m sorry for— for assuming I could fix things.  For...not asking your permission before writing that check, or seeing if you even wanted my help.  I know how that looked, and I’m sorry.  Truly.”  Raven opened her mouth to answer but he held up his hand.  “But I’m not sorry for wanting to take care of you, Raven.  I’m not and I won’t ever be, so don’t ask me to apologize for that.”

 

She stopped in front of the dome and wrapped her arms around her middle.  “I’m sorry too.  I know you didn’t— I know that money didn’t mean what I said it meant.  But...god, you don’t know what it’s like, having nothing.”  She looked out over the retaining wall at the city spread before them, yellow lights sparkling all the way to the ocean.  “You acted like that money meant nothing to you, and it probably  _ was  _ nothing for you.  But that was more money than my mom made in a year sometimes, and I— I can’t owe you for that.  No, let me finish,” she said when it looked like he wanted to protest.  “And I would owe you for that, even if you don’t want me to.  I am having the surgery, okay?  Bellamy’s lending me the money.  We have a contract and a schedule for me to pay him back and everything, so it’s taken care of.  But if we’re going to work you have to try and understand that money means something to me.  In a way it doesn’t mean to you.”

 

“So you think we can work?”  The notes of disbelief and hope in his tone tugged at her heartstrings, because Roan sounded  _ vulnerable. _   Well, almost.

 

Raven smirked.  “I think we can.  I’m using your house to recover in, though.  Your bathrooms are way bigger than mine.  And I might even let you pay for a nurse to come help me with bandages and shit.”

 

Roan traced her cheekbone with his finger. “I won’t hire someone to do that,” he whispered.  “You come stay with me and I’m taking care of you myself.”

 

Slowly, Raven closed the gap between them and brushed her nose against his.  “I might allow that,” she breathed.  Roan took her face in his hands and kissed her, a soft, languid kiss that threatened to melt every single one of her bones.  “I should text Bellamy,” she said when she came up for air.  “Tell him the rest of the party is his responsibility tonight.”

 

“So I’m forgiven?”

 

A thought occurred to her.  “Almost.  There’s one more thing I  need you to do.”

  
  



	25. Bellamy (IX)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bellamy and Octavia go to Clarke's last LA show.

“Thanks for not punching Lincoln last night,” Octavia said, glancing up the street to make sure the approaching cab was going to stop.  She stepped into the street and they skirted around to the back entrance of the Staples Center, their hoodies pulled up and their heads down. The concert had started hours ago and wasn’t quite done, so there wasn’t much in the way of foot traffic outside.

 

“I haven’t completely ruled it out,” he grumbled.  “And thanks for— thanks for inviting me to this.”

 

“Hey, no problem.”  Octavia pulled her sunglasses off and flashed her pass to the bouncer, who let them duck inside.  “It’s the least I could do, considering...well, considering.  She’ll be thrilled to see you, you know.”  

 

Bellamy wasn’t so sure Clarke would be, but he couldn’t leave things the way they had been.  And he owed it to her to have a face to face conversation, but he wasn’t sure how long she would be in LA.  Which left this option, which was admittedly...dramatic.  He just hoped no one had recognized them on their way in.   Clarke’s voice drifted back to them as they navigated the hallways, but everyone back here would have been vetted by Clarke’s team so he pulled his hood down and let Octavia take the lead.  She nodded to a few people, hugged a few more, and then they made their way to a back corner of the stage.  They could just make out Clarke in a soft pink top and tight jeans with her back to them, hitting the last few notes of her song.  “She’s got one more, then two encores,” Octavia whispered.  “She’ll go off the other side of the stage before coming back out.”

 

“Thanks,” he said again.

 

“But are you ever going to tell me why you didn’t just get a pass for yourself?  She’d give you one.”

 

“I’m not so sure,” Bellamy whispered back, scuffing his shoe against the ground.  “I haven’t talked to her since Tokyo.  We...fought.”

 

Octavia raised her eyebrows.  “She didn’t mention that when I did the Seattle show with her.”

 

“Why would she?”

 

Octavia gave him a strange look, but the strum of a guitar directed his attention back on stage.  “This is a little something I’ve been working on with a friend,” Clarke told the audience.  It was like she was on stage at a coffee shop talking to fifteen patrons, not in the middle of the Staples Center surrounded by thousands of adoring fans.  He liked that about her— the way she could connect with every fan, like it was a private show for them.  Clarke plucked a few notes and his heart stuttered with recognition. “Might be on my next album, actually,” she said, and started playing.  “It’s not finished yet, but I hope you like it.”

 

It was just her, her guitar, and a spotlight, with the song they’d wrote filling the air.  She’d written lyrics too, that talked about trust and loyalty and understanding, and guilt filled his stomach.  That morning in Tokyo, everything had seemed so... _ right. _   Like everything he wanted had been staring him in the face, and he wondered how it had taken him so long to realize what she meant to him.  Her hair was soft and her skin was hot to the touch, but just a few hours before she’d been sobbing in his arms about another woman.

 

Clarke’s voice rose and fell in complement to the guitar, the strings serving as a low counterbalance to her soprano, almost like a duet.

 

With Raven, knowing she was on the rebound was half the appeal.  But all too quickly he realized that if he became Clarke’s rebound, he’d be lying to her because he wanted so much more.  So he’d pushed her away and tried to explain, but instead he just looked like another person telling her what to do.

 

Clarke finished her song— their song, really, and it was even better than he could have imagined— and the crowd (which had been nearly silent before) exploded in applause.

 

Panic and doubt gripped him.  “We have to go,” he whispered to Octavia.  “Now.”

 

“I thought you wanted to see her?”

 

“Not now.  I can’t,” he pleaded, and Octavia took in his expression and then started pushing their way back to the alley.  

 

He gulped down air in the dingy alley and Octavia stroked his back.  “Whatever you did, you can fix it,” she said soothingly.

 

“I’m not—”

 

“You can fix it,” she said.  “I know you.  You can fix it.”

 

He hoped she was right.

 


	26. Bellamy (X)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Octavia gets married. 
> 
> Again.

“You ready?” Bellamy asked Octavia.  She looked radiant in her simple white dress, one bright blue flower pinned behind her ear.  He was still hurt that she hadn’t even  _ thought  _ he’d want to be at her wedding in Hawaii, but in the end— that was his sister.  She acted first and thought later, and he’d done that often enough that he couldn’t hold it against her.

 

“Ready,” she beamed, and he offered his arm to lead her out through the palatial kitchen to the backyard.  The flowered arch was set up where the lawn started to slope towards the beach with the setting sun sinking behind it.  It was beautiful, he had to admit.

 

Roan might be a Class A Dick, but his house was spectacular.  And he seemed to make Raven happy, so he was dealing with it.

 

The ceremony was just a recitation of vows and an exchange of rings, with Bellamy standing beside Octavia and one of Lincoln’s military buddies standing behind him.  Bellamy had offered her their mother’s ring but Octavia had refused, since it was his father who had given it to her.  _ It’s yours, Bell,  _ she’d insisted.  Instead O had chosen a delicate circle of diamonds while Lincoln’s was hammered gold.  Bellamy had made his peace with Lincoln; first at Raven’s party and then at a series of increasingly less-awkward dinners where he realized his sister was right: Lincoln was kind.  Too old for her, but kind.  And Octavia hadn’t been a kid in a long time, no matter what Bellamy thought.

Octavia’s friend Fox pronounced them “Married; again,” and the guests broke out in laughter.  They shared a kiss that contained entirely too much tongue for Bellamy’s comfort and then Octavia was skipping down the aisle on Lincoln’s arm.  He had to smile at that, because Octavia was happy.  He’d wanted it for so long that seeing it felt strange, but good.

 

Servers materialized out of thin air, some folding up the chairs and setting out the dance floor while others passed around appetizers and drinks.  Octavia and Lincoln had their first dance, so absorbed in one another that it was like no one else existed.  Everyone clapped and then got down to the business of drinking and dancing.

 

Bellamy snagged himself a glass of wine and found himself standing next to Roan, watching Octavia, Lincoln, and Raven chat animatedly while Miller and Monty slow danced.  He stole a glance at the man standing next to him and realized there was something soft and fond about his expression.  “She owns your ass, doesn’t she?” he asked.

 

Roan almost smiled.  “Utterly.  I’m not usually in the habit of hosting vow renewals for my employees, you know.”

 

“Octavia’s made you a lot of money.  So have I, for that matter,” Bellamy countered.

 

“That you both have.  But I doubt you’d expect me to do this if it wasn’t for Raven, would you?”

 

Bellamy downed half his glass of wine in one gulp.  “She means a lot to me.”

 

“So I’ve gathered.”

 

“I don’t care if you destroy my career; you hurt her, I hurt you.”

 

“Noted,” Roan said, tipping his wine glass towards Bellamy.  “I can promise you I have no intention of hurting her ever again.  That sufficient?”  His light blue eyes were dancing with amusement and Bellamy wondered if he’d  _ ever  _ like the man, but he gave him a tight nod in acknowledgment.  “Because it looks like someone would like a word with you,” Roan said with a look over his shoulder, and then turned to make his way in Raven’s direction.

 

Bellamy spun around and almost dropped his wine glass.  “Clarke?” 

 

“Hey,” she said with just a hint of shyness.  “Octavia invited me.  I was wondering if we could talk?”

 

About fifteen different emotions surged through him all at once.  “Okay,” he said, beating them all back down and followed her past the bar to the steps down to the beach, her lilac dress catching the sunlight in a way that made him forget how to breathe.  Clarke slipped her heels off and let them dangle from her fingertips as she tiptoed down the worn wooden planks and into the soft sand.  No one seemed to notice them slipping out, but Bellamy did spy a few security guards lurking on either side of Roan’s beach access to stop anyone from stumbling onto the property.  “So you wanted to talk?” he prompted.

 

“I wanted to apologize,” she said.

 

“I should too,” he said, but she shook her head.

 

“No, me first.  I get that you didn’t want— you didn’t want me like that, and I put you in a shitty position.  But god, you’re the closest friend I’ve had in a long time, and if there’s any way we can, I don’t know, forget that I’m an asshole and move on?”

 

“I don’t want to forget, though,” Bellamy admitted.  Looking at her was hard, so he watched the last sliver of the sun drop into the ocean.  “Not that you’re an asshole, I mean.  Just— I wanted that too, okay?  Just...not like that.  If we’d hooked up as your rebound, then…”  he broke off and shuffled his shoes in the sand.  The shiny black stood out between the grains of brown, and he willed himself to look Clarke in the eye.  “Then that’s all I’d ever be to you.  And I wanted to be more.”

 

“Wanted?”  She sounded hopeful, and his heart felt like it was floating.

 

“I  _ want _ to be more,” he corrected, and her eyes widened.  “But— I should apologize too.  I tried to tell you how you felt, and I shouldn’t have.”

 

Clarke dropped her shoes in the sand and grabbed his hand, pulling him close.  She put her other hand on his shoulder and his arm went around her waist and just like that, they were dancing as soft strains drifted down from the band.  She pressed her temple against his jaw and he breathed her in, vanilla and warmth.  “No, probably not,” she said.  Her breath tickled his neck.  

 

“I was at your show,” he said after a few moments.  

 

“I know. Why didn’t you stay?”

 

“I heard you sing our— your song.”

 

“It’s our song,” she insisted.  “You wrote almost half of it.”

 

“None of the lyrics, though.”

 

Clarke fell silent.  “I wrote them about you,” she whispered finally.  “You made me feel safe.  Whole.  Like myself again.”

 

“That’s— that’s how I feel too.”

 

“I was going to sing it to you some time.  As an apology, or something.”

 

“You don’t need to apologize,” he said, and dropped a kiss to the tip of her ear.  He hadn’t even thought before doing it; it just felt natural.  Clarke looked up at him and then they were kissing like it was the most natural thing in the world.  They stopped dancing and he cupped her face delicately, smiling when she sank her teeth into his lower lip.  

 

The sun continued to set and he lost himself in her, running his hands through her hair and biting back a sigh when her tongue slipping into his mouth.  Somehow the kiss changed from a leisurely exploration to something needier and hungrier, and for a moment he forgot the security guards, the wedding guests, everyone, and kissed down her neck to her collarbone, scraping his teeth along the thin bone.  “Wait,” she gasped, and he abruptly came back to himself.  He pointed to Roan’s shed a little ways down and they hurried through the sand, their hands clasped together like she was his lifeline.

 

“It’s locked,” Clarke said with a pout, but Bellamy swatted her hand aside and took a stab at the keycode.  The door unlocked with an electronic click and they slipped inside.  “How did you know the code?”

 

“Guessed,” he said, pinning her to the thin plywood door.  “Raven’s birthday.”   There wasn’t much space, with the surfboards leaning every which way, but it provided privacy that the beach didn’t.

 

“He’s got it bad, doesn’t he?” she said between frantic kisses. 

 

“Probably,” he grinned, but then she palmed him through his trousers and he stopped thinking, groaning when Clarke dropped to her knees.  She unbuckled his belt and eased his pants down, followed by his boxer-briefs, releasing his erection to bob against his thigh.  Clarke licked her lips with anticipation and grinned up at him before taking him in her mouth, fluttering her tongue along his shaft.  He shut his eyes and tangled his fingers in her loose hair, the sensations bombarding him all at once, from the heat of her mouth to the movement of her tongue, taking him deeper and deeper, to her nails raking down his inner thighs.  She moved up and down along his cock, her hand twisting at the base, and he felt pressure building at the base of his spine.  His knees started to buckle and he gasped out a warning and she sucked harder, so he braced his hand on the wall and let her pull him over the edge, emptying himself down her throat with a moan.

 

He pulled her up to stand and kissed her, tracing the crevices of her mouth with his tongue while his hand cupped her breast through the silken material of her dress.  There was a tiny ledge on the adjoining wall and he lifted her up to sit on it.  He barely had space to kneel down but he managed it, only knocking over two surfboards in the process.  Bellamy wanted to be able to take his time with her but now wasn’t a moment for slow, gentle teasing.  They would have time for that later— ages, if he had anything to do with it.

 

He shoved her dress up her thighs and licked her through her lace panties, already damp with need.  Clarke’s hands fisted in his curls and he pressed his tongue into the fabric, teasing her clit through it, and then he glided his hands up her hips to curl his fingers in the waistband and pull them down to her ankles.  He didn’t give her a chance to recover, spreading her glistening folds with his thumbs and licking into her.  She tasted sweet and tangy and  _ perfect _ , and his eyes closed of their own accord.  He lashed at her clit and before long she was panting, crying his name in a pained, needy tone that was driving him crazy, and then she was coming, her muscles clenching and her thighs trembling around his ears.

 

He straightened and kissed her, their tastes mingling.  “We should get back to my sister’s wedding,” he laughed against her lips.

 

“You’re coming home with me after,” she agreed, her fingers hooking in his belt loops.

 

“You’re damn right I am,” he agreed, handing her her underwear and tucking his shirt back in.  

 

She leaned into him as they walked back up to the dance floor, a smile threatening to break her face in two.  His own cheeks ached from smiling but he couldn’t stop, not as he pulled her into his arms again and kissed her forehead.  Octavia was in Lincoln’s arms in the center, her forehead on his shoulder.  Monty and Miller were laughing together near the bar, and he saw Monty steal a kiss from Miller when looked away.  Even Raven was dancing, swaying with her arms around Roan’s neck, their foreheads pinned together.  He tucked his nose into Clarke’s hair and closed his eyes, drinking in the way she felt pressed against him.

 

His friends were happy, and so was he.

  
  



	27. Five Years Later

“You realize I’m going to kick your ass at this, right?” Emori taunted.  She inhaled and handed the joint over.

 

“Bring it,” Murphy wheezed, holding the smoke in his lungs as lung as he could.  “I’m a Mario Kart expert.”  His phone beeped and Emori jerked her chin at it.  “That’s the third time.  Just answer whoever it is.”

 

He sighed dramatically and checked it.  “Harper wants to know the name of a choreographer we worked with forever ago.”

 

“Why does she think you’ll remember?”

 

“Because he was a fucking sadist and she knows I have a long ass memory,” Murphy snarked, typing out his response.  “Are you sure you want to be Princess Peach?”

 

“Worried you’ll lose?”

 

“Worried you’ll be embarrassed, more like.”

 

**

 

“Murphy says his name was Titus,” Monroe said, putting Harper’s phone down on the floor.

 

“Ugh, that was it.  God, he was a dick.”

 

“But you think he’s what these boys need?”

 

“They need a goddamn drill sergeant,” Harper sighed, doing her last ten crunches.  “They can’t handle the choreography we have now and they’re fighting all the time.  Gavriel is going to be the death of me.  I swear, if I have to put out another fire...”

 

“Talk to Indra,” Monroe urged, getting into position to do another set of pushups.  “She can’t help with the choreography, but she’s the best at PR, seriously.  She handled Clarke after Finn and she took over Octavia’s transition and now she’s winning like, Spirit Awards and shit.  When we’re finished I’ll text Octavia and get her number.”

 

**

 

“Linc, do you still have Indra’s number?” Octavia yelled over the noise of three rambunctious toddlers.  

 

He looked up from the floor, Reese, Jas, and Chris all attempting to hold him down while Lincoln pretended to be a monster.  “Don’t you?”

 

“Not since Reese flushed my phone last week.  Harper wants Indra to whip The Grounders into shape.”

 

“Yeah, should be in my phone.  Who are The Grounders, by the way?”

 

“The new Delinquents,” she yelled.  “Found it— thanks!”

 

**

 

Monty’s arms encircled Miller from behind, somewhat inhibiting his ability to stir.  “I don’t want the veggies to burn,” he said gently, but Monty didn’t let him go, just pressed a kiss to the nape of his neck.

 

“We never get moments like this anymore,” Monty whined.  “Why did we adopt twin boys?”

 

“Because they bring us endless joy?” Miller guessed.  “Especially when they’re at Octavia and Lincoln’s for the day?”

 

Monty sighed and rested his chin on Miller’s shoulder.  “I never thought I’d be eating dinner at five pm so I could go pick my kids up from  _ Octavia Blake’s  _ house in time for bedtime, you know?”

 

Miller leaned his head against Monty’s.  “It’s good though, isn’t it?”

 

“It is.  When do you go in to record your song?”

 

“Next week.  Raven’s bringing in some really cool session musicians; should be good to get back into it.”

 

Monty kissed his cheek.  “I’ll put the plates out.”

 

**

 

Raven smothered an eyeroll while Bellamy and Clarke glared at each other in the recording booth.  They’d been bickering over the bridge for ten minutes, and she loved them both dearly but she was going out of her mind.  “Guys, you know this is just for charity, right?” she asked over the intercom.

 

“Doesn’t matter,”  they replied in unison, so Raven settled into her chair and decided to get comfortable while they hashed it out.

 

Five minutes later, they were still going at it and her phone buzzed.  She swiped it open and Roan’s dick filled the screen, long and hard and curving just slightly to the left.  She’d sent him a picture of her tits when she was in the bathroom earlier in the day (when Bellamy and Clarke had insisted on rehearsing fifteen hundred times; she really was going to kill them) and she was happy to see he was picking up what she was setting down.  “Guys, I’m going to take a break,” she told them, but they were deep in discussion and it was like they hadn’t heard her.

 

Roan picked up halfway through her first ring.  “How’s New York?” she asked, closing the bathroom door behind her.

 

“Boring.  Nice tits, by the way.”

 

“I’m a fan of your dick too,” she grinned, and let him talk her off while Bellamy and Clarke worked their shit out.

 

**

 

Clarke nuzzled Bellamy’s chest absently while he read.  “I think after we release this charity album I might make another one.  Do the whole solo artist thing again,” she said.  “I had fun today, even if Raven wanted to murder us.”

 

Bellamy closed his book but left his glasses on.  “Yeah?”

 

“Yeah.  It’s been a few years.  I miss it.”

 

“It means the spotlight again,” he pointed out.  “We haven’t dealt with that in awhile.”

 

“You mean people might find out we’re married?” she teased.

 

“People already know we’re married.  Or at least they’ve guessed.”

 

“Would you mind?”

 

“If you recorded again?  Of course not.”

 

“No, being in the spotlight.”

 

“Not so much.  I think we can handle it this time around.”

 

“Yeah?” she said, craning her neck up to kiss him.

 

“Yeah,” he agreed, and then they stopped talking entirely.

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading, everyone!


End file.
